


Nothing

by AeantizLKamenwati



Series: Banal'han [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A lot of Elvhen History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Darkness, Demons, Did I mention Headcanons?, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Eventual relationship, Explicit Language, Forgotten One AU, I say again, In Game Dialogue, M/M, Past Relationships, Rather Dark Tones, Revenge, Slow To Update, Spoilers, Uthenera, Very Slow to Update, Violence, bad assery, headcanons, hidden past, long chapters, weird magic stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:17:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 396,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeantizLKamenwati/pseuds/AeantizLKamenwati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas isn't the only elf in the Inquisition that's got a millennium long secret. </p><p>Inquisitor Lavellan has one that may make people change their minds about letting him lead an army of the faithful...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Call Me Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Not long ago I found a fic (The Forgotten One by neko1kitty) on here that began to explore the possibility of the Inquisitor being a Forgotten One...have to say that sparked my slumbering inspiration some. So I wanted to take a crack at it. Again I don't mean to step on anyone's creative toes.
> 
> Will contain game dialog (or what I can remember anyway) and spoilers. All such content belong to the lovely people at BioWare.

The prisoner was silent as he walked beside her. It was eerie, like walking next to a ghost. Cassandra tried not to notice how he didn’t respond to any sort of stimulus. People ran passed him, frantic. The elf kept his eyes forward, his leisurely pace steady. Cassandra wished to spur him along as more soldiers ran passed them with an injured civilian.  


The elf didn’t flinch.  


Until the Breach pulsed, that is. A loud hiss of breath escaped his lips as he stumbled and fell into the snow as though he lost consciousness for a moment. Pain was written all across his pale face as he held his left hand close to his chest. She wondered just how much pain the mark was causing him as she pulled him to his feet.  


He was incredibly light weight, nothing but bones even for an elf. She kept her hands on his shoulders as he steadied himself. Cassandra noted his arm was dead at his side, the strange eyes bright with pain. His eyes reminded her of a dragon or snake: cat eye green on the outside slowly blended into a bright red explosion in the middle. Flecks of orange and yellow decorated the large iris framed with thick black eyelashes. They were as terrifying as they were hypnotizing.  


Once he was able to stand on his own, they continued down the path. Still silent. She explained what they did know about him, just to fill the uncomfortable silence. The elf kept a straight face, as though he could not hear her. Come to think of it, he might have been deaf…  


But then the bridge was shattered and they were surrounded by shades. Cassandra fought off many when a lightning strike killed the last. Her head whipped to the prisoner who was panting, staff in hand. His long black hair was starting to come undone from his braid.  


She pointed her sword at the mage, ready to nullify whatever spell he threw at her. “Drop your weapon now!” She ordered, thrusting the tip closer to him. He took on a defensive posture.  


“Do you really think I need a staff to be dangerous?” He scoffed, narrowing his eyes. She felt him pull magic to him. She hardened her own glare.  


“Is that suppose to reassure me?”  


“I haven’t used my magic on you yet.” He growled. She stopped a moment, taking a deep breath. He was of course right. He was a mage; at any point in time he could have killed any of them, even bound as he was. Yet he did not.  


She conceded his point and worked to move him along at a quicker pace. He seemed uninterested in preserving his life even as his mark twitched.  


At the top of the hill was the Rift, with soldiers fighting the demons that spilt out of it. Cassandra launched herself into the fray as the mage watched warily. He seemed to find the chaos interesting. She growled to herself, slicing through one shade. Was he truly so conceded that he would not help anyone?  


She swung her shield against another, knocking it back. She used her fury to end another, but still more came through. She felt Solas’s magic freeze a target, heard Varric’s crossbow release bolts to shatter it. The other soldiers had been cut down before she felt unfamiliar magic strike.  


Fire spread quickly on the field, explosions knocking the shades away and sending others panicking. It wasn’t regular fire either. It was…blue and the magic it left felt like slime over her skin. But it distracted the demons long enough for them to follow up and destroy them.  


The prisoner was pulled closer by Solas, shoving the mark at the Rift. Green light connected the two before the prisoner broke the grip and wrenched his arm away. The Rift shattered. He glared at Solas, holding his hand like he’d been burnt. The look in the elf’s eyes…was one of pure hatred. Cassandra briefly remembered the high dragon attacking Val Royeaux with a shiver.  


“You mean this.” The prisoner barked, glaring at the flickering scar. Solas explained, but it seemed the prisoner wasn’t hearing it. He stared at Solas like he thought he was the dumbest person he’d ever met. She commended Solas for not throttling him like she wished to do.  


Then Varric spoke up, causing the strange elf to turn towards him. “Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tag along.” He winked at Cassandra. The elf blinked slowly at the dwarf.  


“Good to meet you Varric.” He finally conceded, though his tone was strained.  


“You may reconsider that stance in time.” Solas joked, though the other turned to look at the Breach rather than respond.  


“Aw, I’m sure we’ll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles.” Why the dwarf had to give nicknames to everyone he met was beyond her. Then she noted Varric inviting himself to the Breach.  


She quickly told him no, just as Solas began introducing himself. Which all he got was, “We need to move.” In a dead tone. The elf was already moving farther down the path, poking at dead bodies with his staff. She glared as he pushed a mage’s body over, finding an unbroken staff with almost a scythe blade upon it. It’s wooden handle was bloodied but the elf didn’t seem to care as he discarded his for this newer staff. Flames licked the air around it as he tested it.  


“Chatty isn’t he?” Varric muttered as they began to follow him. He easily climbed over the blockage towards the lake. Solas muttered something in reply, but Cassandra’s instincts were screaming too loud as she watched how relaxed the elf seemed. It was like watching a large cat strut about. Or a snake slither easily through the sands. There was something unnatural to his movements, setting her off.  


“So what’s your name?” Varric asked, trying hard to get a response. The elf paused and looked back, a look of disgust on his face. Solas frowned, finding the look to be full of arrogance that marked the Dalish. It was as though he were revolted of having to share the same air with them.  


“Names are petty, meaningless things.” The elf answered steadily. “I do not have one.”  


Cassandra furrowed her eyebrows as the others shared a look. “You must have a name.” She probed.  


“Must I?” his look was void of emotion as he turned to look at her. “Why do shemlen have the need to name everything? You name things only to forget the names when they cease to be useful. What is the point of asking my name when you seem content on calling me prisoner?”  


Silence spread for a moment before Solas took a shot at getting information out of him. Cassandra was about ready to kill him and be done with it. “What clan are you from?”  


“You assume I am from a clan.” The elf shot back. Cassandra was getting a headache as she glared.  


“You are Dalish, aren’t you?”  


“I do not know, am I?” The two elves narrowed their eyes at each other. Tension became palpable in the air, lightning seemingly dancing in the air.  


“Cheery guy.” Varric muttered to himself. The elf seemed to find something in Solas’s glare and looked off to the side, still stoic.  


“The clan who found me was Lavellan.” He finally gave. Solas blinked as though that name surprised him. The elf sighed to himself and began walking again. “And if I must have a name…call me Banal.” The elf muttered as though it pained him.  


“Banal?” Solas asked bewildered. “Nothing?”  


“Yes, nothing. Do you find fault with my choice, Pride?” The elf glared over his shoulder and spat. Cassandra furrowed her eyebrows. She assumed nothing and pride were meanings of their names in elven. But the way the elf spat the word pride, made it seem more like a curse. Or that he was calling Solas a demon.  


Solas returned the glare, “No, but I hope you find a better one.”  


Varric winced at the jab. But Banal snorted and continued his way towards the Breach.


	2. Forgotten and Frustrated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Banal isn't really the "savior" kind of guy...and that's putting it mildly.

_Choking darkness, body weightless and numb, floating but falling deeper into the Void. No sounds. No images. Just Void. This prison strangles me. My mind reaches out, but I cannot feel anything. Can find nothing to grasp. I hear no whispers of my brothers and sisters. I feel no presence of Dreamers._  


This must be Hell, _I think I cannot be sure if I think it or I imagine it. Even my inner voice is drowned out in the pervading silence. I wish to strain against the magic binding me here, but I cannot find it. I wish to scream but do not know where my voice has been scattered in the eternal darkness._  


_My emotions are far and few between, fear of the nothingness, anger at the Betrayal, sadness at the lost. Fear is to the left somewhere, anger below me, sadness somewhere far away though it is still a part of me._  


_I feel stretched like my body parts, my very mind has been burnt to ash and scattered to the winds, but as I drift in the Void I find each ash. I struggle to piece them together, far as they are. Eyes, nose, heart, love, hate, fear. My magic pulls and pushes, clawing to reach the remote pieces of me. Soon I can breathe, but the air is empty, filling my lungs with nothing. My heart beats emptiness through my veins._  


_The darkness presses upon me. I feel it wrapping around my new throat. It burns, searing my being asunder again. My magic struggles against it, shocking and freezing at nothing. Fear takes a hold of my mind, worse than the Void ever could be._  


_They’ve forgotten me. I who gave name to the loneliness that presses every heart to cease beating. I who embody the night, the end of all things, have been cast aside like shemlen trash. I brought the dark that they use to cross the Veil, and I have been cast out?_  


_Fear gives way to rage, deep and eternal hatred. It burns away the fire, eating the very Void away from my soul. How dare they treat me as something to be used and discarded? They wish for the Creators to protect them, when the Creators warred with themselves. They think we gone, we whose names have been carved from their records? My craftsmanship still colors their world._  


_They still find darkness beneath their eyelids, in the sky when Mythal turns away, and in their very hearts. Immortality can only last so long before they too enter the darkness that the Twins believe they have conquered. If only darkness surrendered so easily._  


_My body shakes as the darkness shifts. It lightens, shimmers. White blinds me. I feel trapped, caged within this Void. No colors, no thoughts can be found. I lose grip on myself as the white begins to fade into true nothing._  


_I look down to my hand, watching as bits break away and crumble down till they are nothing too. Fear chokes me. I cannot be forgotten. Had I the ability to cry true tears, I might have as more break away. Parts of me disappear entirely. They do not scatter; I cannot find them again as they dissolve. It is maddening, being brushed away._  


_My heart aches. I scream, just to try to hear something, to feel something. But the Void swallows it, ripping my voice away so all I can do move my jaw in the act. Soon I cannot even do that. My body dissolves away, slowly, pain soon leaving even. Anger flies away. Fear is eaten from my heart. Love clings desperately to me, but the Void claims it too. My mind fades._  


_I don’t want to be forgotten._  


*****  


Such memories plague me as we reach the gaping hole in the sky. It is bright, too bright. It burns my hand, numbing every new nerve I have found. I glare up at it and the Rift below it. I should know this place, but I find my memory to have been taken. I can sense it somewhere beyond the Veil, but cannot draw it to me.  


I cannot even push myself through the Veil. The world has changed much since I left, it seemed. The Veil was not as thick, or perhaps it was not even there. Or magic was much stronger then.  


I struggle to keep all of my magic inside myself. It wishes to taste this new world, find its dark corners and invade them. It wishes to make mortals bow once more. But the shemlen look to me to close the hole.  


“I take it you have a plan to get me up there?” I feign ignorance. This magic is familiar, tastes of an old…friend. If one could that man a friend. Before I had called him such, but after suffering what I did, I would gladly consume him. I smile to myself, feeling his power invading my hand. Ironic that I would be the one who stole his foci’s magic.  


But how did I do it? That question bothers me as I follow the others down to the shifting hole in the Veil. As we grow closer, the mark stings sharply. I swallow bile as darkness blots my eyes. I feel the magic clawing through my veins, my marrow. My magic fights it. The two war inside of me, ripping my body to shreds it seems as we walk to the Rift.  


I hear my voice, but I cannot recall ever speaking the words. I cannot even recall the shemlen woman or the dark mass who threatens to kill me. But I feel the Beyond seeping into this world. I know somewhere in there my memory lies. My hand burns as I flex it.  


“…sealed safely. However, opening the Rift is likely to attract attention from the otherside.” The one who called himself Solas explains. I pay him no mind; I know what to do. No demon could ever conquer me. The thought gives me a smirk as I hold out the mark. I feel more of his magic flood my hand before I wrap it around the hole. As I would rip hearts from chests, I pull the Veil open, a large demon materializing at its first opportunity.  


It is a simple enough fight. I allow the warriors to hack uselessly at the demon’s legs, keeping far from the lightning it favored. Solas kept them protected as though their lives mattered in the slightest. The durgen’len shot at it from the shadows as I worked a spell. My body shook with the flood of magic seeping through the hole. I drank it into my body greedily, letting it push against the mark’s pain.  


Soon all I could hear was the Fade singing in my ears once more. I felt slivers of magic all around, clinging here and there. Some poured out of the Breach, others pooled under the Rift. My magic grabbed it all as an old spell whispered passed my lips. It was like breathing to me, pushing the Fade into a tornado of fire around the beast when it was vulnerable from me leeching from its connection to the Rift.  


Blues, blacks, purples, and reds swirled endlessly around the screaming beast. The warriors staggered away when the first fire strands appeared. I felt old magic dwelling beneath the ground, singing to be used once more. Without much thought I flicked a hand. My magic shot out, coaxing ancient stones to rise once more. They clung to the demon, rooting him in place.  


I let out a long breath as the beast screamed and writhed in its bindings. I smile hearing the sound. But soon it becomes too loud. I look back towards the Rift. I wonder how it came to be, how I stumbled out of it. Vaguely shemlen words come to my ears. Without breaking my thoughts or looking towards the demon, I snap.  


The magic freezes to itself, then cracks loudly, shattering into tiny fragments. Demon and all. I feel eyes upon me as I dust away pieces of the Fade I feel cling to me. Questions of how’s and what’s fade away from my ears. I sense the Veil is much weaker now. My body aches at the amount of magic flowing through me. It fights another war, trying to conquer the foreign magics and make them its own.  


“Seal the Rift!” The human woman yells. I snort. I don’t take orders from anyone, I think before holding my hand out. The magic reaches for itself again. This time the Rift pushes against me, fighting. Pain claws up my arm and into my head. Pressure seems to build, the magic corking itself in my palm. It feels as though all my blood is forced into my left hand.  


Just as I think my arm would explode, the ‘cork’ pops and my magic blasts out of me. It shoves the Rift closed and sends a shockwave up. All my magic leaves me, as does my consciousness.  


*****Sometime Later*****  


Banal had a permanent scowl upon his face as they made their way to the Crossroads. The elf was…difficult would be an understatement. The man was an enigma that could not be solved. He had such a look of in difference when it came to anything. He held no emotion upon his face but that look of utter disdain. He had even only agreed to join the Inquisition for the time being, until that hole was closed.  


Now the elf looked about the refugee area with nothing but disgust in his eyes. Cassandra questioned her sanity for believing he was sent by the Maker, which he adamantly denied. You can’t be serious, were his exact words. He was about as sociable and likable as a dragon’s ass.  


Two soldiers directed him to the Revered Mother. She was half tempted to follow him. She had no doubt he wouldn’t kill her, but the man had less tact than she. But she got asked to help move some of the badly injured to another spot while Solas helped tend to the wounded. Varric did what Varric did best: talk.  


Cassandra kept an eye on Banal. His back was usually rigid. His face remained the same look of disregard as the mother talked with him. His eyes glinted in the sunlight and for a second Cassandra thought the whites of his eyes were black. Then he turned from the Mother and walked towards her.  


“There I talked to her, can we leave?” He asked as soon as he got close. She saw Mother Giselle shake her head as she began her trip to Haven probably. Cassandra glared at the man.  


“These people are desperate. They need help.” She whispered harshly. The man rolled his eyes and looked off to the east. Did he truly not care about anyone but himself? Surely the Maker would not send someone so thoughtless to save them.  


“So what did Mother Giselle want?” Varric asked as he came over. The elf didn’t even bother looking at him.  


“She wants us to talk to the other Grand Clerics, convince them I’m not some demon from their darkest nightmares.” A twisted smirk graced his face at the mention of being a demon. Cassandra found it unsettling. It looked so predatory like a wolf or bear trying to grin.  


“So we have absolutely no chance then?” Varric quipped. The elf cocked an eyebrow as he looked down at the dwarf. For a second it looked as though Banal was contemplating Varric’s death. Then he snorted, which they figured was his equivalent to a laugh.  


“The Creators would sooner take an interest in you.” The elf muttered. Cassandra thought she heard such a note of contempt that she furrowed her eyebrows. Banal was Dalish, that was clear from the face tattoo. But he was unlike what she thought a Dalish would be like. He wasn’t very devout to his gods from what she could tell. Perhaps he had given up hope on them. Or was suffering from a crisis of faith. They all did push the title of Andraste’s Herald upon him. It must be a culture shock and stressful.  


“Shall we move on? Or are we to help every sob story we come across?” Banal asked. He received some glares from passing Inquisition soldiers. The black haired man didn’t seem to care as he leaned against his dragon staff.  


Cassandra lost any understanding she had gained for him. She gritted her teeth as he started to walk around the Crossroads. He was stopped by many, asked to and begged to do certain quests. He never once said he would do any of them. But neither did he flat out refuse. Cassandra took a small comfort from that.  


*****  


_Leave. Me. Be._ Banal growled inside his head. He contemplated burying them all in an endless sea of darkness as some man complained to him about being cold. _You do not know the meaning of cold._  


He had felt cold, true cold. The kind that ate away everything. The kind only the dead know. His mind turned to dark places, well one place of nothing. Banal’s ears began to ring loudly. He winced as the noise drowned all else out. Gently he touched one of his ears, feeling something cold when the breeze hit him.  


His fingertips were bloody red when he pulled his hand back. His mind went blank at the sight. How could he bleed? Without being struck? He swallowed slowly, hearing a dead whisper in the droning. _You should not be here,_ it said in elven. The voice was familiar and yet he could not place it. He knew it, but he didn’t. It terrified him, which should not happen. He was Darkness Incarnate; a mere voice should not frighten He Who Is Forbidden.  


And yet looking at his bloody fingertips, Banal couldn’t help the fear creeping up his neck. It spread through his hair like ghostly hands running through his tresses. He shook memories he couldn’t place rising up as the hands wrapped around his throat and began to squeeze.  


Who’s hands did he remember bringing a shiver up his spine? Who caressed him like this? Who had made him afraid?  


He couldn’t find any answer in his head as he quickly turned away from everyone and walked away. The recruit probably thought he had offended the mighty Herald. Banal couldn’t care less. He fought to keep himself from running away, his body taut like a bowstring ready to fire. A cold sweat broke out on his neck.  


He walked into the tunnel where no one else was. He convulsed, his legs threatening to collapse. He was barely able to lean against the cold earth and slide down before blackness started to eat away at his eyes. Banal swallowed shallowly, trying to keep bile down.  


His body protested every movement, every rise and fall of his chest. Something clawed at his consciousness, trying to drag him back to wherever he had been. His eyes shut as someone pressed a hand to his cheek. He groaned in displeasure at the contact, glaring weakly when the hand left.  


“Herald?” Cassandra’s voice was so far away he couldn’t be sure if she was right in front of him. Concern was written across her face. It was odd to see such an emotion directed towards him. He quivered like some small child. Panic rose in his chest. There was a magic here, one that seemed to seep from the very earth. Whispers upon whispers upon wails drowned his head. His magics pulled to the northeast, to the southwest, to the northwest. It pulled in every direction, trying to shatter him.  


His magic had been weakened since he had woken up. Even a week after stopping the Breach it was but a fraction of his normal. He felt odd, weak... _mortal_ even. He despised it. But diminished as it was, his magic still reached out to the weak points of the Veil. It tried to suck all the magic it could out of the tiny Rifts.  


Banal's head swam, sensing all the Rifts in this one area. It was enough to make him throw up. Which he did oddly enough. It was a strange thing, feeling acid run up his throat, tasting it on his tongue. Like a bitter and horrid wine. Vaguely he heard others around him, felt someone steadying him as he sat back up from retching. They were all far away. All he felt was the pull of the Abyss, the Void sending hands to grope him and pull him back.  


"Herald!" Finally broke through the piercing Fade voices. Banal blinked incoherently at the human in front of him. Well humans. He had attracted quite the crowd, all who looked absolutely terrified. _Silly and stupid humans_ he thought _You wish for the Destroyer to save you._ Oh the irony. He gave a snort, his chest caving in more than it should have. His breathing labored to keep him conscious as people began trying to move him.  


"Un...hand me." Banal's voice was tired, but still stubborn and haughty. He swatted hands away, gave some a mild shock, and narrowed his eyes into the slits of a dragon. Everyone took a step back. The Veil pulled around Cassandra and Solas as though they readied themselves for a fight. As though they could fight him. "Too many Rifts..." He managed to mutter. He did not think they deserved much of an explanation, but allowed them to have something at least. The humans seemed to accept that.  


"Solas..." Cassandra looked to the bald elf. He seemed on edge and unhappy as he approached Banal. Banal couldn't say he cared for the man's presence either. Solas's magic irritated his ears, made his skin feel like electricity was a blanket around him. It was something familiar and yet not. A memory that was replaced by the Void once more. Banal turned those impossible eyes to the other elf who knelt beside him. Solas kept enough distance between them that they didn't touch. Their eyes locked.

Each found each other familiar but could not place the face with a name. Each found the other disdainful, Banal's arrogance was profound even for a Dalish, and Solas's pride in knowing the 'true' elves grated on Banal. As though Solas's dreams reflected the actual past. Banal knew what the Fade was like. It was a mangled mirror crafted by beings that had no understanding of the world. He should know. He remembered dwelling there...for some reason. Flashes of a war, of defiance come to his mind before he expels them. Forgotten like everything else.

Solas's magic spread over his body. He winced, trying to squirm away from the light. It was a delicate touch that seemed to light his blood on fire. The mark flared brightly in his distress. Magics fought each other in his body, dark and light, known and foreign. A war seemed to be endlessly fought within Banal's body. Pain made black dance in front of his eyes. He swayed. Too much magic, too much magic.

Then it all faded away and the voices claimed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Banal might have God-Moded it there for a bit, but I swear that's the only time he's able to get enough magic...well there's one other time, but that's far off. And he pays a heavy price for doing it. I'm working on making him...less godly in power and more godly in pride...  
> And I apologizes for switching points of view (and tense) so often. Debating on which I prefer for Banal. Would it be better to have Banal narrating his own horrid thoughts? Or better to put some sort of barrier between?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. The Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banal remembers very little, but he does remember a certain Guide from a long time ago, though he wishes he didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this is fluff or smut or fluffy smut, but it has sexual themes so read at your own peril.
> 
> (By the Creators I didn't know I was capable of this stuff...) So I think I'll up the rating...to cover all my bases.

_The feel of hands running through his hair woke him. They were soft, absent strokes that chased away the Darkness he was accustomed to. The sensation of tiny pinpricks on his skull was so foreign, he lay there for a moment thinking it to be an illusion one of his brothers created._

_But the hands continued, forcing him to open his eyes. His first sight was from the chest of another man who was reading a book. He blinked several times, trying to recall what had happened. He sat up, looking about the room._

_It was lavishly adorned with golds and silks. The walls were murals depicting some tale about the Twins. The tale corkscrewed up to the vaulted ceiling where it ended in an open meadow with a deer bounding about. He truly didn’t understand the story, but that didn’t matter. He looked down at himself, chest bare and lower half covered in many exotic furs and cloths, sitting in a large round bed._

_Fingers rested against the skin of his lower back, a sharp shiver gracing his skin there. He turned slowly to the man beside him. Hair the color of pine bark fell into garnet eyes that bore into his own. Intricate silver tattoos decorated his entire body, the man’s chest naked._

_“Ir abelas,” The man practically purred, setting down his book, “I did not mean to wake you.” Suddenly the night’s events flashed behind his eyes, a flurry of touches, kisses, and torn clothing. A smirk graced his face remembering the tiny tear in a sleeve that had caused all of it._

_“It is fine; I don’t mind waking up like this.” His own voice was sensual and low. A prideful smile showed white teeth against the golden skin. A jeweled hand reached up and traced his slave markings._

_“Of course you don’t.” That hand guided him closer. “I’d be offended if you did.” Their breaths mingled in the space between them before they kissed. A burning took up residence in his stomach as his tongue explored the other’s. The taste of wine invaded his mouth. He splayed a hand against the man’s chest, digging his nails slightly. He pulled away, leaving barely any room between their lips._

_“Will there be anything else, Master?” How he loathed the word, but was forced to use it to keep cover. And yet…a shiver ran through his body, settling in his manhood as his master took his mouth again, biting a bit too hard on his lower lip. The master rolled him over to his back, so his legs dangled off the side with the master on top._

_The master stopped, pulling away slightly, pinning his roaming hands beside his head. “I told you,” he began kissing the slave’s neck, nipping and sucking the areas that were tender. “You may call me” a hiss interrupted him, “Falon’Din.” Falon’Din sat back, looking down at his slave with a haughty smirk._

_“Will there be anything else then, Falon’Din?” he cooed. The covers had bared both their bodies to the other. The lust in Falon’Din’s eyes made his breath catch. Never before had he met someone who could…devour him, consume him as well as he did him. This was a quirk he found appealing in the Creator._

_His thoughts got lost as the god lowered his lips again, kissing a bruise he’d caused the night prior. “You have never told me your name.” he murmured against his pale skin. The god got a slight groan as he shifted his hips against the other’s._

_“I told you to call me whatever you wish.” Was a breathless mumble. Falon’Din frowned before seizing both his wrists in a spell that held them above the slave’s head. The Creator pressed his lips to the other’s, hands tracing the angles of the body beneath him. Slowly he began a trail of kisses to the man’s ear._

_“And I wish to call you by your name.” He growled. His teeth scraped against the soft flesh of his earlobe. The gold dangling from the god’s pointed ears brushed against his cheek as teeth bit the tips of his own ears. Agile fingers lightly traced patterns over his hips, teasing about going lower._

_“If that’ll please you…” He moaned. He couldn’t care less about what pleased the Creator, he just wanted him to fuck him already._

_“No…but I might be so inclined…” Falon’Din brought his face back to the nameless slave’s, their noses barely touching. A wicked grin made the red eyes shine. “to let you be on top this time.”_

_“I was thinking more about hurrying this” He bucked his hips making the death god hiss. “up.” Falon’Din laughed, trailing his fingers to the inner parts of his thigh._

_“I might be inclined to do so…If only I knew what name to scream.” He felt the other’s breath hitch, saw the strange dragonesque eyes narrow. But Falon’Din didn’t care about how suspicious the man became. It was all teasing, fun, though he did enjoy their little trysts far more than he ever had with other slaves. The man had an insatiable appetite and could handle more than the Creator thought a mortal could._

_“Banal.” The slave whispered, eyes scared and soft. It was odd, seeing vulnerability in the man’s face. Falon’Din snorted as he chuckled._

_“Banal?” He asked with a cocked eyebrow. “That’s a terrible name.” His voice was quiet and teasing as he lowered his head so their foreheads were touching. Banal chuckled, pressing his hips against the god’s as though to remind him of the fire burning._

_“Fine, then call me Lavellan. My daughter seems to like that name.” Falon’Din’s eyebrows shot up._

_“Daughter?” He sat back. He was many things, but he was not a whore. His surprise broke the spell binding Lavellan’s wrists. The dark haired elf pushed himself up on his elbows with a disapproving frown._

_“Yes daughter. Is that a problem, master?” Falon’Din’s frown deepened at the prodding tone of the word master._

_“I was not aware you were…bonded.” Just as he was about to move off him, Lavellan hesitantly touched the guide’s outer thigh, tracing the intricate tattoos absently._

_“Who said anything about bonding?” Lavellan chuckled darkly. He still had that predatory look that first caught Falon’Din’s lust. The god’s body shivered under his touch and stare that said he was waiting to consume him entirely. “If it’s any consolation, I did not love her mother.”_

_“Did not?”_

_“She died in childbirth.” Lavellan’s voice was cold and steely, as though he did not care. Perhaps he did if he didn’t love—“If you wish for the short story, I will tell you my lord. But I’d much rather do something else, my lord.”_

_“I hate it when you call me that.” Falon’Din whined. Lavellan gave the most breathtaking, lecherous smirk he had ever seen, digging his nails into the god’s ass. “You are an insufferable lecher, you know this yes?” The responding laugh was dark, and sent shivers down his spine._

_“Here I thought you liked that about me.” Falon’Din bit back a growl as that hand worked its way to his front._

_The Creator grabbed the hand and glared a warning. Lavellan huffed through his nostrils before putting both hands behind his head. “Tell me the story.” The elf sighed beneath him. “I always reward you don’t I?”_

_Lavellan’s eyes flickered over the ceiling as Falon’Din settled back in his original spot, their legs slightly tangled. “Why are we talking about a dead woman when we could be having sex?” Falon’Din bit a laugh at the whine in the man’s voice as he sat up. This was clearly a topic he didn’t like._

_“Because I do not lay with anyone who has a family, Lavellan.” The name felt odd upon his tongue. It wasn’t of any elven he knew of and yet it seemed as though the name had always existed. Like the black haired elf with the green and red eyes had always been Lavellan._

_With a loud huff, Lavellan moved to sit next to his master, crossing his arms and glaring at the door. “I have a daughter, no wife, no husband. I don’t call that a family.” Falon’Din ignored him and picked up the book that had been disturbed in their romp. Carefully he straightened the pages before setting it on the table. “It was…Fenedhis I can’t even remember. Seventeen years ago? I wanted sex, she wanted sex. There was a bed and so we went for it. She got pregnant and that was that.”_

_He was hiding something, but Falon’Din could not place what. He could not even figure out why he was having this conversation. With a slave of all people. Most often he had just sent those who already had families away rather than talk with them. Falon’Din ignored the part of him, the part that listened too much to his brother, that said he wanted these little bouts to be more._

_“And you didn’t love her?”_

_“Should I love every person I ever fuck?” The Creator winced._

_“You know I hate that word.” Lavellan snorted in response. “She gave you a child, Lavellan. Do you hold no love for that?” The elf continued to glare at the door. But he didn’t reply. The twitch in his jaw told the guide the answer was yes. “I suppose you do not love your daughter then.”_

_Lavellan looked at him from the corner of his eye, furrowing his eyebrows. He sat in silence for a moment. Falon’Din was about to tell him to leave when: “I would kill anyone who did her harm. I don’t know if that is love or just instinct.” Stopped him. The god watched as the elf turned to him, face set in stone. His eyes had lost their lust, replaced it for a lost glimmer. “You ask me these questions as though I know what love is when I do not.”_

_Falon’Din smirked to himself. “Perhaps I can teach you, Lavellan.”_

Banal’s eyes flew open, his body jolting upright. His heart pounded inside his skull. Within seconds, he scrambled out of bed, turning towards the presence he felt near him. His bare back pressed against the rough fabric of the tent. His breaths were quick and shallow as he gathered magic in his hands. 

Solas rose his hands in surrender as he cautiously stood up. Solas had the sudden thought that he had wandered into a dragon’s den and just woken up the dragon as he stared at the startled and furious Herald. Fire licked at the man’s fingertips, magic brightening the odd hue of his eyes as they looked through thick lashes. 

“Bad dream, Banal?” He asked into the silence. The other elf snorted before relaxing, his chin held higher by his pride. Solas stood straighter, refusing to be looked down on, with a scowl. 

“What are you doing here, Pride?” Banal hissed. He looked down at his left hand, finding it dead at his side from the poultice Solas had put on it moments before. It was to keep the muscles relaxed as he studied the mark that still flashed dangerously. 

“I was checking the Mark. I wondered if it had caused your sudden illness.” He hissed back. Lightning seemed to fly between them as Banal looked down at the green glow. It didn’t hurt at the moment, but he had little doubt it would soon begin to sting, setting every nerve he had on fire. 

“It hadn’t.” He said flatly, managing to make a fist as he looked back up. 

“Then might you tell me why you fainted?” 

“I might, were I so inclined.” And with the air of a dragon about to breathe fire Banal stalked to his tent’s opening and waltzed out, Solas thinking he should’ve left when he had the chance. 

Out in the daylight, Banal noticed two things. One was he was no longer at the Crossroads. The other being the loud noises of a battle were going on somewhere below this little hill. 

“Look who is back from the dead…again.” Varric’s gruff voice pulled his attention to the dwarf who was apparently talking with a group of scouts. They all looked at him, differing degrees of relief coming over them. He scowled. “You’re not a morning person, are you?” 

He snorted in response. He looked around the small camp that was beside a small pond area. Blood Lotus was in abundance. There was an odd skull that put a ringing in his ears not too far off overlooking the valley. And there was Cassandra coming up one of the paths etched into the cliffs’ rocky sides. She relaxed visibly as she came up to him. 

“Herald are—“ 

“What was the point of telling you my name when you continue to call me Herald?” He growled. She blinked as though not expecting his ire. His hackles were raised from that dream, the dream whose memory fisted around his dark heart. He remembered those words spoken in perfect elven, remembered the smell of their owner, his touch one that had never been sullied by raw labor still was on his mind. And it angered him. 

“I, uh, apologize.” Cassandra watched him warily as his anger made him shake. Or perhaps that was hunger. “What happened?” 

“I do not know, what happened?” He fired back as his eyes bore into her’s. She sighed loudly as she narrowed her eyes. 

“You fainted and we brought you back to camp. Why did you faint is the question I should be asking.” Apparently you had to be really specific in order to get any sort of real answer out of the elf. 

“I told you: too many Rifts. Too much magic.” His voice was strained with anger or fear she could not tell. But she could tell he was going to be about as nice as bear whose dinner was interrupted. 

“Do you normally pass out from having too much magic?” Varric asked, coming up to hopefully break up the fight before it began. “Is that even possible for a mage?” 

“It is if they are sensitive to it. Too much of anything is never good.” Solas muttered as he came out of the tent with his bag. Banal glared out across the valley, clenching and unclenching his fist as the mark began to tingle. “The mark seems to absorb magic more often than not. I imagine that—“ 

“Can we leave?” Banal interrupted. His tone was harsh and biting. They all noticed how frazzled he looked, his long black hair messy as it hung about his shoulders unbound. His eyes kept darting to every movement made. The elf was on edge about something. 

Cassandra frowned her disapproval, not that it would matter to the elf. “We do not have enough power to gather the clerics.” 

The elf’s eyes snapped to hers, his face disgusted. “I have a glowing, green mark on my hand that controls Rifts. I think I have enough power to gather a few shemlen priestesses.” Everyone blinked. That was the most Banal had spoken since meeting them. Also Cassandra looked like she was about to punch his lights out. 

“They are Grand Clerics of the Chantry.” She barked back. “I suggest you begin calling them such.” Her tone was dangerous, her hand on the hilt of her sword. 

“They are your priestesses, not mine. I do not care what you call them.” Banal growled back. Varric inner writer suddenly thought of a comparison that was so accurate it was scary. _The Dragon stood in the face of the Dragon Slayer. Their eyes were both spitting fire as they stood toe to toe. The Dragon dared the Slayer to harm him and his magical mark. The Slayer dared the Dragon to make another blasphemous comment so she could see if she could actually punch a dragon._

“These people need our help.” She tried another tactic. Maker did she wish Josephine was here. 

“These shemlen do not need anything.” He hissed. Now a crowd begun to form around them. “They want our help. I care little about what they want.” Varric winced as the soldiers began to look at each other with disbelief and disgust. “If they truly needed help, they’d help themselves.” Without waiting for a reply the Herald turned on his heel and glared each solider into looking away before stalking off to the other side of the pond. Cassandra made a loud noise before turning and heading back to the Crossroads. 

“I’ll handle the Herald, if you talk to the Seeker.” Varric offered the bald elf. The two elves were more likely to end up in another Conclave. Solas glared after the Herald before looking at Varric. 

“Not that Cassandra likes me any more than the Herald, but I can try, Child of the Stone.” He nodded before following the Seeker. Varric began dispersing the soldiers before cursing under his breath. Banal sat on the other side of the pond, washing himself it seemed. More like rubbing water over his bare arms and washing his…hair? He guessed that’s why he laid down in the middle of a shallow area. 

Varric picked his way to the black haired elf, trying not to get too wet, leather was a bitch to dry. Everything but Banal’s nose was under water. Varric wondered how he was getting himself clean by laying in the mud, but he then notice the bed of ice the Herald was laying on. He also noticed those terrifying eyes opening and staring at him. 

“Just here to make sure you don’t try drowning yourself. I don’t think that fancy mark works if you’re dead.” He joked, not sure if the elf could hear him. The elf glared for a moment before sitting up and turning around to face him. Varric was quite thankful the elf had left his pants on. That would’ve been awkward. 

“As though I would kill myself over a shemlen.” He muttered raking a hand through his ink-black strands. Varric sat down upon a rock. “Are you going to watch me now?” The elf cocked an eyebrow. 

“You know, Smiley, you remind me of this other elf I knew.” Varric snickered remembering Fenris. If Banal ever met Broody, all of Thedas would swoon…or be torn in two by the two. 

“I am Smiley, now?” Banal frowned deeply. 

“Well Banal is a terrible name.” The dwarf shrugged with his usual laid back smirk. “Sides, I give everyone nicknames. And Sunshine was taken.” The elf snorted. But at least he didn’t try to rip Varric’s head off. The dwarf didn't know it but he had struck a nerve, echoing words spoken ages ago. It wasn't like he had chosen that name. It was the last thing he had heard. _Ar lasa banal. You are nothing._ Before slipping into the Void. Memories of the dreaded place, of the Betrayal that happened before it, boiled his blood hotter. The water around him began to steam before Banal stopped himself. 

“Why are you bothering me, durgen’len?” Varric had learned from years of Merchant Guild business and dealing with Broody/Blondie not to take offense to the “I’d rather kill you than talk to you” tone. 

Varric wondered for a moment how best to go about it. He didn’t want to force Bianca into killing their only hope of closing that damn hole in the sky. “I get it, Smiley. You aren’t the savior kind of guy. You think people should help themselves, be independent. Thing is sometimes we can’t help ourselves. That’s why we have heroes.” 

Banal snorted. _Foolish. Pathetic. Shemlen have become like babies, incapable of solving their own problems._

“…More to the point, all those people down there have a job to do. Can’t just pick up and leave.” Banal looked back at the dwarf with complete contempt in his eyes. 

“Are you suggesting I be that hero?” Such a mad thought! Saving the world! Helping people! Him! The One who had fanned the flames of war, who bathed in the blood of those so-called heroes, saving the innocent and ill-fortuned! The world was truly desperate if they were asking for his help. 

“Well, not in so many words. I don’t see you as much of a hero but you are the only one that can get everything back to normal.” 

Banal stared at the dwarf an amused smirk playing around his lips. Varric eyed him suspiciously. “If you truly knew who I was, you would not ask such things of me.” The elf gave the most predatory smile Varric had ever seen. 

Banal’s mind turned to seas of blood. Imagine the destruction, the fear and darkness to be had at his fingertips. With such a holy title (or at least he thought it was a holy title. He did not know who this Andraste was after all), he could claim is was the will of the gods. He could infect the souls of thousands who came to his banner. Perhaps even reclaim his lost powers. He could rise to his proper status. All he had to do was ‘help’ the idiotic shemlen long enough to gain trust. His smile grew at the thought of another game. 

“Very well, durgen’len. I will _help_ ” The word sounded closer to a curse word than anything. “I imagine there will be plenty of battles to…satisfy me.” Then the elf stood up still with the look more akin to a demon. Dripping wet the elf walked back to camp. Varric shivered, wondering what he just talked into helping them…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banal is a bit of an ass...though I do find it fun trying to think of how he'd see the world...
> 
> Also I'm not certain Ar lasa banal is correct. I know Solas says Ar lasa mala revas (you are free or you are now free), so I'm going on a limb here and saying Ar lasa banal is You are Nothing. 
> 
> Hope you are enjoying this dark little elf. Thanks for reading.


	4. Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banal lets slip some details about himself, and gets Cassandra riled up about religion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death, gore, and some sadism ahead! (I'm not good at fight scenes so it isn't so bad)

Banal didn’t even wait for Cassandra to come back before he dressed himself in the Apprentice Armor they’d found on one of the mages, grabbed his staff and set out up the hill. Varric and one of the other soldiers shared a look before running to catch up, yelling “Herald! Wait for the Lady Seeker!” 

To which they got: “I do not need a shemlen to protect me.” 

Which Varric found out to be true…oh Maker was it true. The look the elf gave the demons was enough to make the dwarf want to run into the Fade. Something about battling made the Herald become a demon, making blue fire erupt from the ground, lightning strike the earth. When shades got to close, that staff’s blade got used in rather creative ways. By the time the soldiers had found the Seeker and Solas, Banal was shoving the Rift closed, covered in demon’s blood. 

“What in the Maker’s name do you think you are doing?!” The Seeker’s voice was strained with fear and anger. The elf returned her heated glare with a dead face, which wasn’t an improvement from the smile. 

“You told me to _help_ and am I not?” 

“Not if you wind up dead!” 

From the look on Solas’s face, he was thinking that was debatable. Banal snorted. “No demon could kill me.” 

“What of possession? With the Breach—“ Banal held up a hand, a look of pure disgust twisting his face. 

“I would not allow such pathetic parasites the satisfaction.” His words were clipped and harsh, hanging in the air like daggers. “There is another Rift up the hill. I care not if you follow.” Banal had the strangest ability to change emotions at a moment’s notice. Varric shook his head, remembering how Aveline had once scared the shit out of him. Banal he’d scare the shit out of Aveline…if she could be scared…Hell Banal could scare a demon back into the Fade. 

“How in the world did you convince him to help?” Solas asked as they began to follow the Herald up the hill. He walked like it was a leisurely stroll rather than a hunt for Rifts and rams. 

“Honestly, I don’t know. I think he convinced himself actually.” Varric shrugged. Cassandra snorted. 

“I commend you for not shooting him.” She growled, still glaring at the elf’s back. 

“Smiley’s not that bad, Seeker. You just have a short fuse.” The dwarf smiled his devilsh smirk as the Seeker glared at him. 

“Hold.” Banal muttered as they drew to his side. His eyes looked out towards the Rift, finding a small band of Templars fighting some mages and their sellswords. Cassandra began forming battle strategies in her head. Banal knew powerful offensive spells but little of defensive ones. Thus she would have to rely on Solas to keep the party protected while Varric kept the pressure on them and Banal controlled the field. 

As these thoughts ran through her head, Banal moved forward, hand gripping his staff tightly. She took out her sword and readied her shield. The Herald seemed to be enraptured by the battle, his nostrils widening, pupils dilating. 

“Wait here.” He almost whispered to not give away their position. Everyone’s eyes went to his back as he began to stalk forward. For a moment they were reminded of a wolf circling a wounded prey. Cassandra gritted her teeth before speaking in an equally quiet tone. 

“Herald, you can’t possibly—“ 

“I walked out of the Fade, Seeker. I can handle a few shemlen.” Banal barely looked over his shoulder towards her. His eyes were entirely focused on the battle as one of the mages fell. “Wait there.” His words were threatening now, rooting them in place as though he were a snake and they a bird. 

Banal smiled to himself pulling his magic from his voice. How easily shemlen were frightened, controlled. He turned back to the battle. Anger, fear, hate all broiled around the five humans. It was sweet, delicious heat that his magic hungered for. All of his world turned red as he went closer. 

The feel of such dark emotions tingled his skin. Like stepping into a steaming bath after days of travelling. His body relaxed, the tantalizing smell of adrenaline filled his nostrils as a sellsword took a sword to the neck. His magic pulsed out, wanting to taste the darkness hidden inside the mercenary’s blood. 

Banal’s heart sped up as he gathered the magic around him. As much as he loved foreplay, he loved the feel of blood against his skin more. With little more than a thought, he pulled the magic from the air, riding it like a bird does the wind. His body, momentarily nothing but magic, passed through the other sellsword, freezing the man. Banal stopped directly behind him. 

Gripping his staff with both hands, he swung with all his might. Metal struck ice in a shrill pang. The body shattered, head falling forward. A wicked grin flashed as the elf rounded on the remaining three. They were stunned by the sudden intrusion but quickly recovered themselves. 

Banal ducked a sword meant for his neck. He danced around behind the man. His staff blocked the next attack, sparks flying as he stared into the other man’s eyes. Fear and hate flickered there, spurring Banal on. With a twist of his staff, he wrenched the sword from the Templar’s hand. He cast his staff aside, catching the blade before it fell. Blood sprayed into the air, a gurgle leaving the Templar as it gushed from the vulnerable neck. 

Like a well-trained soldier, Banal rose the sword to block the next attack. Strange magic pulled at his, trying to take it. Anger flared brightly inside him. His magic pulsed out, seething tendrils biting and tearing at the other magic. 

He ducked a fireball. His feet moved nimbly away from the soldier, keeping him between himself and the mage. The next fireball smacked the Templar’s armor, magic dying into tiny sparks. 

Banal shot in. One arm rose, hitting the inside of an arm trying to bring down a sword. The other gripped the chainmail. Stupid to wear something so conductive. The strange magic bit into his flesh, but he brushed it away. His magic was far too strong. The last thing the Templar saw was a wolfish grin before electricity enveloped him. 

Blood splattered against Banal’s skin. Sweet and warm. It felt as though he had been walking in the cold and had just stepped in a warm banquet hall. The charred skeleton crumbled to the ground. Banal took a large breath, smelling the metallic scent of lightning and burning flesh. He had missed it so. 

His eyes flashed to the mage. As he took a step forward, lightning struck the mage unbidden. Banal watched as he convulsed. Now that’s interesting. For a moment the world turned normal, the red leaving the corners of his eyes. His mark twitched. It pulled at the magic around him, trying to morph it to his emotions. Odd. 

Then the red bled back. The mage swayed a little as the electricity left him. Banal Fade Stepped one more time. The mage attempted to put ice glyphs beneath his feet. Foolish. Before the spell was complete, he was already inside the little barrier. Sword still in hand, he slashed downward. Arm and staff fell to the ground. Blood coated them both. A scream echoed off the mountain walls. Another strike severed the annoying screech. 

He let a chuckle escape him as he turned to the followers. Their faces were pale. With his free hand, he gave one gesture, beckoning them forward. He let the sword drop, blood sliding between his fingers. His body shook from the adrenaline, his magic still flaring. He felt alive again. 

Banal rolled his shoulders as the others tentatively approached. He kept his gaze steady and even, though their unease flooded through him. It was soft, saccharine like a lover’s kiss to his gnarled heart. He relished it, but chastised himself. He was being greedy, impatient. Fear and hate were best brewed slowly, allowed to age like wine or an elvhen spell. 

He relaxed, becoming lucid and unthreatening as he could. This was a game he knew quite well. Act harmless, dutiful, and he’d reap the benefits soon. 

“You…got some blood” Varric motioned towards the elf, “everywhere, Smiley.” Banal smirked to himself as he kept that steady look. 

“That’ll happen when you kill someone.” He commented. The dwarf looked surprised for a moment before grinning. 

“Ho! The Herald does have a sense of humor!” Banal cocked an eyebrow but didn’t ask. This world was full of strange phrases it seemed. The tongue was barbaric and reviled in his mouth. But from what he gathered from Clan Lavellan (his heart clenched at the name) elven wasn’t spoken much, if at all outside the Clans. Whatever the Clans were. 

“Where does a mage learn to use a sword?” Cassandra questioned as Banal wandered over to his staff. The handle was slick with red, making Banal happy to have it. He could feel life pulse from the cold liquid. It had every emotion, every story, every dark piece written inside it. His magic clawed at it, picking up what it could without being obvious. 

“Are mages only allowed to use staves in this world?” He fired back. She blinked, looking up from the bodies. 

“No…I have never met one who could wield a physical sword before.” She gave warily. Banal snorted in response. 

“Now you have.” 

***** 

Travelling with Banal…was interesting. The man was an incorrigible battle monger. He reveled in the battles, leapt into them with a ferocity one might expect from a demon. He gave no thought to the consequences of going against large Enforcers. Just forced flames to his bidding and struck down with lightning. 

His magic was another thing. Every time he used it, it felt like sludge crawling over their skin, a leech sucking at something. It was unsettling at first. But soon the party learned to cope with it. And once they stopped paying attention to the eeriness of his magic, it disappeared entirely. As though the leech could find nothing else to feed on. Banal also had to be reminded to rest more often than not. He wasn’t used to working in a group it seemed, and his energy level knew no bounds. He was always ready for a fight and became twitchy and irritable when they stayed too long at any one camp. Indeed, he did not care that they had long gained enough power to go to Val Royeaux. 

When Cassandra told him they could leave, he looked at her with his ‘are you stupid’ look and said: “Why would I wish to talk to shemlen priestesses when I could kill something?” His love of death was unnerving as well. 

But what worried them the most was his disinterest in food and sleep. He avoided the latter like it would kill him. Varric had once woken up in the middle of the night to take a piss and found the Herald standing watch rather than another soldier. And that was the third time in a row. Dark circles had begun show under his bright eyes. And getting him to eat anything was like forcing a wolf to eat cabbage. Sure he’d drink water and any sort of alcohol they happened to have, but food? You’d have a better time convincing a Qunari that the Maker was real. 

***** 

“Banal…” Solas warned as the elf began to head towards Master Dennet’s. They had settled into a routine in the two weeks they’d been out there. Cassandra, Solas, and Varric would be the ones to talk, lest Banal say something offending and cruel. Banal would fulfill quests so long as they involved fighting. The others would then return to the quest giver for the rewards. As such, Banal wasn’t allowed (though Varric got the sense he only amused them, letting them think they had control) to go talk to potential allies without someone with him. 

The dark haired elf turned to the other mage, fire in his eyes. “What, Pride?” he barked. The dark circles coupled with the bloody red tattoo that encircled his eyes just made the green stand out, the red scream. 

“Unless you wish to pass out again, I suggest you eat.” Everyone commended both Cassandra and Solas for not murdering their damnable Herald. Everyone commended Varric more for having actual made conversation with the elf. 

“Take your suggestion and—“ Hands grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to sit before he could finish. 

“Eat.” Cassandra all but shoved the wooden bowl into his hands. While she didn’t care for his attitude, she did care that she was basically watching him waste away. He was already too thin from not eating anything but what was drop-fed to him after exiting the Fade and again after stopping the Breach. 

Banal glared at the food before glaring daggers at the human who touched him. If looks could kill, the Seeker would be a dead woman indeed. Probably also flayed, hanged, and quartered too. 

“I will shove the food in your mouth if I have to.” She growled. Banal’s glare didn’t relent. 

“There are things that need to die. I don’t need food.” He hissed. Varric found it funny to watch. He was like a small child being told to clean up before dinner. 

“Last time I checked, death could not sustain a body.” 

Banal’s low chuckle crawled over their skins. He had long been sustained by death and fear. It fueled his magic, his heart, his very nature. So long as it existed in the world, he doubted he would die. But, his body shook, an odd hollow feeling in his abdomen. Physical hunger wasn’t something he knew of. Sexual hunger, the hunger for more blood to spill, all such hungers he knew well. 

This was new. It was _mortal_ a frail and weak functioning of the finite body. He should not need it. It was beneath him in every way. He was infinite, a god. Then his heart twinged, cutting his laughter short. Pain flashed over his face, his organs all clenching at once. 

What is a god who had no followers? Who had no name? He felt his temple, his power somewhere in the world, untouched still. But that was all that remained. If it were to be defiled… 

Banal snapped his mind away from the possibility. He would slaughter the entire world before that would happen. The oceans would run red before they too were consumed in dark. He glared at the food before him. 

“Think of it this way, Smiley: the quicker you eat, the quicker you get to kill something.” Varric said before starting his own breakfast. The elf frowned at the mixture. He wasn’t even sure what it was. Even as Falon’Din’s slave he had better meals than this lumpy, gray mess. 

“If your food was edible, I might be so inclined, durgen’len.” Banal lifted a spoonful to his lips. The substance barely touched his tongue before he spit it out. It was a vile poison, he was sure. 

“Do the Dalish not have oatmeal?” Varric asked. That word again! Banal hissed to himself, emotions frayed from lack of sleep. All to avoid more dreams of him. He feared them, which angered him and tortured him. How could a so called Creator hold this much sway over him, a being of darkness that wished to consume all? 

“What is a Dalish?!” Banal snapped dropping the spoon in a sudden flare of anger. Everyone looked at him. “Whatever it is, it is not me!” 

“But your tattoos…” Cassandra started, staring at him with bewilderment both at his sudden flare of temper and his words. 

“They are markings of a slave.” He hissed. His words hung around them. Most looked like they’d been slapped. Banal could not fathom why. Slaves were common when he was last awake. The Clan all had the markings of different Creators upon their faces. He figured they might have been escaped slaves… 

“You were a slave…from Tevinter?” Cassandra asked. 

“I don’t know what a Tevinter even is. I was a slave, leave it be.” He growled, tossing the ‘oatmeal’ into the fire and standing up. His world spun for a moment. Banal shook his head fiercely. He was still a god, so long as his temple stood. Hunger would not claim him. He walked with a stiff back. The camp was silent as he retreated to his tent. He did not care for shemlen food, but their alcohol wasn’t as bad. 

Banal broke the cap off a dusty bottle he had found the other day. The burn of age old liquor filled his nostrils. It promised a numbness, a fire that would eat away all else. Not that he could get drunk. He still enjoyed feeling nothing, thinking nothing, of being consumed by his own nothingness inside. 

He sat on his furs, taking long swigs of the burning fluid. Hunger swirled around his stomach, but the fire burnt that away too. Soon it spread through his veins and his head. 

“You know, Smiley, alcohol can only solve so many problems…” Banal turned with a blank expression to the dwarf. He had his usual smile on. Banal wanted nothing more than to see it knocked off. No one should be able to smile, to joke, all the damn time. 

“Did you need something, Varric?” Banal growled raising the bottle up to his lips. He kept an eye on the dwarf who seemed proud to have been called by his name. Of he should be proud. Not many people ever got the privilege of being anything more than elvhen, durgen’len, or shemlen to him. But a being who could have enough idiotic bravery (or sheer stupidity) to sit beside Banal, covered in blood with his smile, and talk about some shemlen named Hawke, was a rare person indeed. Rare enough Banal figured he could at least distinguish him from other durgen’len. 

“Got a peace offering.” The dwarf tossed a small bundle towards Banal. He caught it easily with his free hand. “So we can get moving before you set fire to the camp…again.” Banal cocked an eyebrow before untying the small sack. Inside was a piece of hardtack and a piece of jerky. 

Banal gave the dwarf a questioning look. Was this poisoned? Or so old no mortal could eat it anymore? His magic licked out. Dwarves were about as magical as a modern day rock, devoid of the whisperings of the Beyond. It was maddening at first to hear nothing come from the dwarf, but Banal soon found his magic worked just the same. It was just a bit harder to find what he wanted. 

His magic found its way into his heart, all the while the dwarf didn’t notice. No one ever did. What he found was surprising. Rather than malice and contempt, he found compassion and honesty. There were dark places in the heart sure, but the pervading feelings were ones of light. They rushed into Banal, burning and searing his very being. He winced as he pulled away. 

His face twisted into a disgusted expression. 

“It’s not a King’s feast, but it’ll get the Seeker off your back.” Varric shrugged. “When we get back to Haven, maybe Josephine will be able to secure…whatever it is you _do_ eat.” 

Banal took the food out, still with a frown. How odd to find such lightness directed towards him. It was disgusting and needed to be remedied. But at the moment, Banal ran through possible rebuttles. He thought of what was required of him in order to carry out his plan of total dominance. 

With a sigh and rising bile, he settled on “Ma serannas, Varric.” The words were bitter and burnt his throat just uttering them. Just to rid himself of the taste he bit into the hardtack. It was little an improvement. So he chased it away with more of the alcohol. That worked. “Shemlen food is an…acquired taste apparently.” He muttered as he coughed from the rawness of his throat. 

Varric laughed. “I guess for you, Smiley. And you might want to eat that in front of the Seeker, otherwise she might think you just burnt it to a crisp.” And then he left. Banal stared at the flap. What an odd dwarf. 

***** 

Banal joined them around the fire again. He was quiet and obviously not enjoying his breakfast. After every bite of hardtack he chased it with two or three swallows of what appeared to be his Vint-9 Rowan Rose. He didn’t mind the jerky as much…or had just ran out of liquor. 

“So Seeker, tell me of this Maker.” Banal basically commanded as he contemplated the chewy substance in his hand. Cassandra nearly choked on her meal. 

After a few coughs, she managed a: “You do not know the Maker? Surely you’ve heard—“ 

“I have not lest I wouldn’t have asked.” Everyone looked at him. Solas had a peculiar expression on his face. Like he was trying really hard to think of one logical reason for Banal to never heard of the Maker. Cassandra watched Banal’s stony face before explaining to the best of her ability the Andrastian faith. 

“…Until the Chant is sung in every corner of Thedas.” She concluded. Banal had long finished his breakfast, and waited for everyone else to do so. He contemplated the fire, hands woven together, head propped up by his thumbs. 

A slow and soft laugh rumbled from his chest. “Shemlen will believe anything it seems.” Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Pardon me?” Her voice was dangerously low. The elf seemed to be oblivious to the sudden shift in moods. It was like he loved throwing the mood through a loop. Banal continued to stare at the flames, a devilish smirk on his face. 

“If this _Maker_ was truly a god, why would he allow his prophet to burn?” 

“Andraste went to the Maker’s side as must we all.” Cassandra muttered through clenched teeth. Banal finally looked at her with a cocked eyebrow. Her food suddenly tasted like ash and blood. 

“Must we? Perhaps your god isn’t as benevolent as you think. Why else would he wish his beloved burn but for the sheer joy of the ensuing chaos and despair?” Banal leaned back with a wicked smirk. 

“The Maker turned from us because of our hubris. Through Andraste’s teachings we stand a chance of returning the Maker to this world.” Another soldier piped in. Banal turned that snake-like smile to her. 

“Why would a god give his entire city to mortals? If he were truly a god, he’d erased their very existence from the earth for the mere thought. Why let them get so far?” 

“We are all given free-will—“ They were all taken off guard by his loud laugh. It was dark something to be heard in their darkest dreams for nights to come. 

“And yet here I am, forced to be Andraste’s Herald,” He spat the term, “Both by shemlen and fate or this Maker nonsense.” Many people shared looks. Some were of disbelief, others of anger. Varric had to admit he had a point. “Seems to me that you say one thing but mean another. There is as big a hole in your belief system as the hole in the sky.” 

“For someone who knows so little about Andrastian faith, you make awful assumptions.” Solas finally put in. He kept a wary gaze on the Herald. There was something familiar about him. Something otherworldly. Something so twisted and wrong that it just seemed right for the being. 

Banal laughed again. “Explain to me then, if men are supposed to be prideful and power hungry, why is your god one? That doesn’t bode well it seems. If we have free will, then why was I _destined_ to be here?” 

“No one is forcing you to stay.” Cassandra hissed. “You agreed to.” 

“No according to shemlen worshippers, I was destined for this.” His voice was nothing but mockery. He even snorted as he looked at her with the look of an old historian amusing a child’s strange idea for history. “As though your Maker would send someone like me.” The grin spread, as though he shared some inside joke with himself. 

“And what of your gods then? Enlighten us on how much better your People’s belief are.” Solas challenged. Banal just laughed. 

“My People’s gods? Do you mean the Creators?” He couldn’t help but laugh. A mad thought for him to worship another being. They were merely ambitious beings who waged war against each other. They had only won against his kind by a trickery most fowl. “As if they were gods!” He mocked darkly. 

Memories of Falon’Din ran through his mind. No they were not gods. And if they were…Then Banal was more like Andraste than anyone knew. That thought amused him, though it left a dull pain in his chest. 

Everyone looked at him oddly again. “I need not petty heroes and false Divines to tell me of this world of lies.” He told them in a powerful voice. 

“So what exactly do you believe in?” Varric asked warily. The smile fell away, replaced with the cold, calculating determination, the cold fury of a demon lord. Those eyes flashed dangerously as Banal stood up, looking through the flames at him. 

“In the only thing that is true” He paused for a moment, “myself.” He looked around at the soldiers. On the one hand, it was entirely conceited. But on the other, it was commendable that he found faith in himself, enough to go through life without a god or some sort of code. Not that Banal had much of a moral code to begin with, which made sense… 

“If we are done with the shemlen ritual of eating, shall we acquire some better shemlen nags?” Banal cocked an eyebrow at Cassandra’s glare before gathering his things and heading out towards the sounds of horses neighing. 

“Remember, Seeker, he’s the only one who can close Rifts.” Varric joked as he saw murder in her eyes. “Sides if there were no doubters, religion would get pretty boring.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to show just how out of tune with the world Banal has become, thus I decided to make him actually have a conversation about the Maker with Cassandra. 
> 
> And I just find it funny when he says: I only believe in myself...Multiple layers there. Beautiful ;) 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'll try to keep the chapters coming...if only Banal wasn't such a pain to write.


	5. That Damned Druffalo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One good deed wouldn't kill him, right?
> 
> Riiight...
> 
> Some fennecs and nugs were harmed in the making of this chapter ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So before we start off, I wish to do something unconventional and ask you readers for some help. See I have a problem here, I can't decide which side Banal would choose for help with the Breach (after much complaining that he doesn't need help).
> 
> So I'd like to ask you all for your opinions. What would be more interesting: Banal in the Dark Future or Banal and the Envy Demon? You can leave answers in the comments. They can be as detailed or as sparse as you'd like.
> 
> Now just because one side gets more opinions doesn't mean I'll do it. I'm more about quality than quantity. So if you have a reason behind the answer, please share it. I take much more inspiration from reader feedback (that's the only reason why this story is still going so thank you) than you know.
> 
> So if you'll do that for me, we can get the show on the road! Please and Thank you!
> 
> On with the story!

“No.” Banal’s voice was clipped and loud, echoing through the valley. “I will not set up watch towers for pathetic shemlen. If they want them, they should build them. Or better yet, grab a sword, either they will die at their own hands or at others, I don’t care.” 

Varric sighed as the other two tried restrain themselves from hitting their dear Herald. The dwarf was getting the impression that the Herald was tired and frazzled more than he was heartless. But then again, he had slaughtered every fennec and nug he’d come across… 

“You aren’t building them, Smiley. Just marking areas so someone else can build them. You have people for that.” Varric replied smoothly. They were making their way up to one of the weird Tevinter Astariums that Banal seemed to be fascinated with. 

“Whatever the task is, no, I will not be some shemlen errand boy.” Banal hissed turning around to the dwarf. Varric held up his hands. 

“You heard Dennet, Smiley. The only way you’re getting a better horse is by putting up those towers. And the horse you have…well…” He didn’t mention the fact that the Forder had first tried to bite him, then got real anxious when he was in the saddle. It was the main reason why they were still travelling on foot. 

“Do not remind me, Varric.” Banal gave a cool glare towards him. He looked back at the device. He stalked to the old device and began fiddling with it. “Hmm… Peraquialis if I’m not mistaken.” He muttered to himself as the device glowed and shot out a light. 

“Just think about it Smiley, will ya?” Banal’s back was an unforgiving straight line as he scanned the landscape towards where the light shot towards. “It’s not the most glamourous job, but…” A thought occurred to Varric. “These people would owe you, if you did.” The Herald turned around at that. The lazy cat glare that made others falter told Varric he had his attention. 

“Owe me? Owe me what? Gold? I have little use for your shemlen crowns.” Next one the list: teach the Herald how to get a good trade… 

“Their lives. Think of it as sparing someone’s life so they will still be of use to you. We do this for Dennet and he might just join the Inquisition. Others would come too.” Varric shrugged. The Herald stared at Varric a moment longer. 

“This does not benefit me. The Inquisition is the Seeker’s, not mine.” 

“Yeah but you are the icon of the Inquisition.” A twisted smirk came over the Herald’s face. A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. Oh how sweet. He was already put upon a pedestal. The idol everyone flocked to make sacrifices to. He recalled sitting in his inner sanctum, hearing screams and blood splattering from the outer halls. How they echoed off the stone, singing the beautiful music of death before dissolving into silence. He loved the silence the most. 

“So you wish me to protect,” He spat the foreign word, “the shemlen so that they join the Inquisition?” 

“Exactly.” Varric smiled his best sealing-the-deal smile. 

“And how does this help me?” 

“Aside from the Seeker not wanting to kill you?” Banal snorted loudly, briefly locking eyes with Cassandra’s steely glare. The look he gave was one that said you could only dream of killing me. “See the thing is, Smiley, right now people are frightened of you. If you give them protection, they’ll like you, join the cause, and you can get back to doing what you do best: killing things and scaring demons shitless.” 

Banal looked back at the dwarf. “So put up watchtowers so the shemlen will not fear me, but adore me? I rather like their fear. They leave me alone.” His voice was a deep growl. It was the voice of a trained killer, one who loved death far more than he should. 

“You get gold, which is important Smiley, and people are more likely to follow you if they like you.” Varric shrugged again. “More people who like you, the more power you get, the more power you have, the more enemies and the more jobs you get were you have to kill things.” 

Banal frowned. He had to _help_ shemlen…He could stomach doing such when it involved the grass being stained red, the darkness inside all who opposed him seeping inside his veins. But just…doing something for the hell of it? 

It was revolting. He sneered before making his way back to the farmlands. He slaughtered a few bears and outlaws who dared think he was a weak victim. Why would a being of darkness, of nothingness, wish for people to like him? Fear could be controlled. Tighten the noose just a tad more, or lead them to a demon and people would do anything. They were animals easily manipulated… 

Then again, if he were to gain enough weak willed shemlen, he’d have to do things that froze his very soul. The darkness inside him clawed at it’s bindings, growing fat and strong from the mark that buzzed on his palm. With every Rift it fed, filling his being with the vile black. It pushed at his control. 

That darkness screamed at him. The mumbling voices came to life behind his ears again. They were echoes of past victims, begging for salvation in him. Some he had granted that eternal nothing to, but others he let writhe in agony, watching as the light burnt the darkness in their hearts, seared their skin to their bones. But even back then, he remembered, he had lied his way into some of his followers’ hearts. 

He might have to do so again. 

Banal growled as they walked up another hill. “Fine, we’ll build your damned watchtowers, Varric. If only in the hopes someone brings me real food.” 

***** 

The dwarf was positively beside himself with pride. He and the Herald were arguing about the towers while Solas and Cassandra trailed behind them. How Varric managed not to kill the elf was beyond the two. He was the only one that Banal would ‘talk’ to. The conversations were one sided, but still. 

Solas sighed, hearing bits of a losing argument. Banal would never help someone if it did not involve bloodshed. He had only ended the mage Templar conflict here by stumbling upon their bases and gleefully massacring every last person he found. 

It was revolting, sickening that the Mark had been bestowed upon someone who did not care for anything but death. Solas had seen enough mindless conflict for his liking. The Herald would just repeat history. Use the power to control everything and everyone, crushing any who opposed him. What was worse…Solas was partially to blame. Worse still, if Banal wished to take over the Black City as the old magisters did, he could. He could become a god, a wicked god of nothing but death and destruction. 

Solas paused for a moment. He had thought those exact thoughts before. Long before all this. But it was towards a different man whose name had long been lost to the ages. He remembered vaguely a shadowed figure, flashing eyes of a dragon leering down at him from a throne. The man had slaughtered thousands of elvhen, sparking wars that lasted centuries. He had fought Elgar’nan, whispered dark words into the Father’s ears. He had plummeted the world into darkness, nearly devoured it whole had the Creators not defeated him… 

A Forgotten One, the eldest, the One of Darkness. A shudder ran down Solas’s spine remembering the old temple, that horrendous battle that wiped the Forgotten Ones from reality into mere legend. 

Banal was no Forgotten One, Solas was sure. But he still reminded Solas of those dark times. 

“Fine, we’ll build your damned watchtowers, Varric. If only in the hopes someone will bring me real food.” Banal’s growl snapped Solas back to the present. The disgusted glare he gave the dwarf, said he would rather flay them all alive than give them protection. 

Still, how the dwarf managed to connive his way into that black heart, was impressive. Perhaps, Solas prayed, all was not lost. 

***** 

Banal glared as Cassandra planted the first marker on the hill over looking the farmlands. Why he listened to the dwarf he couldn’t fathom. His insides were burning, twisting themselves into his bones. 

He only consoled himself that this ugly act of kindness was for the bigger picture of death and ruin. That was the only thought that kept him from vomiting. “Finished?” He growled as she stepped back, looking quite happy with herself. 

She turned towards him with her seemingly permanent scowl, “Two more, Herald.” She replied coldly. He snorted. Of course there were… Varric snickered at him, looking about as pleased as a wet cat. 

_The things I do for power_ Banal thought bitterly. They trekked back down, the Herald’s mark brightening as they got closer to the Rift behind Dennet’s house. Banal was saving it for a time where his inner self became too much to hold inside. Like now. He could feel it swelling, parts of him straining to keep it contained. 

“Hold.” He barked, pain rushing through his arm. Twitches set in over the hand. Banal clenched his fist, glaring at the flickering Rift. Fear and hate were seeping from it. Fear from spirits being forced into this world. Hate from the world not being as it should. It all pulled at his mark, the magics biting at each other. 

Without another word, Banal grabbed Cassandra’s sword from her belt and rushed forward. A few concerned and outraged cries followed him but his world was turning blood red. 

The Rift exploded, demons sensing his power and leeching from it to pull them across the Veil. A terror demon stood up, screeching. Green wisps fluttered behind it as Banal jumped over the broken part of the fence. His staff clattered to the ground, snapping upon a rock. 

He felt the Terror dissolve into the ground, felt its sickly slime-like magic caress his legs before the green showed below him. A wicked grin spread over his face, his body coiling tight. His magic seized ahold of the tide wave from the Rift. 

Time slowed to a crawl. Banal took a single step back, a claw reaching through the ground. As it sped for his face, he smiled. A with single pull of magic he fade stepped back. The demon shot up through the earth just as Banal sped forward again. Ice grew over its bark-like limbs. 

It rose a gnarled hand as Banal turned towards it. Their eyes locked for a split second. A spirit blast hit his side, pain tickling his ribs. But he blocked the twisted root claws. He spun away, slicing the fingers off. The demon gave a scream, bending backwards. Banal felt the fear swirl around him, compressing into a solid thing that pressed down on his body. 

He pulled magic through his body again, speeding forward towards a wisp. The sword swished through it. Ectoplasm coated the blade in a sickly green. It stuck to him, burning his skin where it touched. The pain delighted him. His gloom pressed at his seams. It flexed and teased his mind with more power. 

Banal shook as a laugh bubbled out of his throat. He ducked another blast, sliding easily towards the faint little spirit. A slash severed it in two. The ground began gripping at him again. This time he let the Terror leap up to grip his throat. His feet left the ground, twigs and sticks ripping at his throat. 

_Fear me little elf. Scream._ its loud screech bellowed in elven. A sadistic smile spread over him. A dark giddiness tangled its way through his heart. His magic sparked at the mark, lightning striking the remaining two wisps cold. Their fragments fluttered back to the hole in the Fade. 

Banal laughed darkly, gripping the demon’s wrist. _Dirthara ma, ma lasa banal dar ar, da’banal’ras. Ma emma harel._ His voice was strangely seductive as he lowered his eyelids, putting his body at ease. The demon screamed, raising its other hand to slice his throat. Banal dropped the sword, shoving the glowing mark into its face. 

Black swirled around the inside the fade green. It wrapped around the skull, biting and tearing pieces off and consuming them. The sick little tendrils crawled over the demon. They stabbed and leeched more power into him. His pulse came quicker. The Terror spread over him, through him, inside his veins like a surge of water. Every cell swelled with power as the demon began to crumble away. 

Pain shot up his shins as he landed on his feet. But it disappeared with the anger. Banal waited for the Rift to spit something else out, but it shuddered weakly. He felt more fear seep out of it. The demons on the otherside saw him, and cowered away from what may have seemed to be a dragon of black. He smirked slamming it closed on them. His body was more relaxed as he dug through the goop that was left behind. It was residual magic that tried to cling to his fingers. 

“You’re bleeding.” Cassandra’s voice sounded a bit terrified. 

“It is nothing.” He didn’t look back at her as the magic solidified into an object. A ring, worthless to him as it did not sing with magic. Still he pocketed for later...He might have a use for these worthless rings, if his power kept growing. He straightened and turned to his companions. “Shall we continue? 

***** 

“Hey, Smiley, take a look at this.” Varric waved the Herald to him. Banal was in a better mood after killing the demon…however he managed to do that. His movements were not strained, his face was a passive stare of indifferent malice. 

While the others were busy contemplating what they had witnessed, Varric just decided he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of Banal being another Anders. So instead he turned to the sheet of paper that caught his eye when they were walking up. 

“What is it now, Varric? Haven’t we got wolves to slaughter?” Banal’s voice was complaining but the kind of complaining you might use if someone you killed just got blood on your new boots. 

Varric chuckled taking the piece of paper off the board and handing it to him. The Herald glared at him but then snatched the paper. His eyes skimmed over it. 

“There are black scratches on a sheet, what of it?” He replied cocking an eyebrow. Varric furrowed his eyebrows. 

“You…can’t read can you?” He asked, in his best joking manner. The elf got a mischievous grin though his eyes remained hooded. 

“Is this what you call writing?” he mocked, handing the paper back. “No wonder your peoples are scattered.” 

Varric chuckled. “I suppose you only read elven.” 

“Of course. I don’t have pointed ears for no reason.” Banal snorted. “I assume this wasn’t just about seeing if I could read shemlen?” 

“Looks like someone lost their Druffalo.” Varric kept his smirk as Cassandra and Solas dared to come closer. They had kept their distance after seeing the black come from the Mark. 

Banal blinked, awaiting the punchline. “Your point, durgen’len?” His voice was calm, but had an impatient bite to it as he crossed his arms to stare down at Varric. 

“The owner is offering a reward if anyone should bring it home.” 

“You aren’t suggesting I be that person, are you?” Banal’s eyebrows shot up as though he had never considered the idea. “Why not just find the beast and kill it? Take the leather? Be done with it?” 

“That beast is someone’s pet—“ Cassandra butted in, her tolerance for Banal’s sociopathic nature at an end. 

“It is a beast, Seeker. It is good for three things,” He held up three fingers. Oddly, for the first time she noticed his nails were pitch black like they all had bruises. And they were more like claws than anything else. She tried to hide the shiver that coursed through her. But his twisted smile returned, telling her she didn’t do a good job. “Pulling carts, meat, and leather.” 

“But a live Druffalo gets you gold. Which we need for a new staff since the Herald broke his.” Varric commented, turning the elf’s attention back to him. Banal glared. 

“I could make a better staff—“ 

“Where? In case you haven’t noticed, Smiley, Harriet isn’t here and there’s a lot of bears, spiders, wolves, and bandits between us an Redcliffe.” Banal frowned at someone cutting him off. The little dwarf was getting too comfortable with him. Indeed, the feeling seeping from his heart was amusement and compassion. The very which that revolted his stomach again. 

“I can use a dar’misaan, how you say…a sword. I’m an elven mage, Varric, not some shemlen that had been locked in a tower.” Banal hissed, looking at the field behind him. “The farmer has three Druffalo, what’s one more?” 

“It’s a prize winning Druffalo.” Varric began walking backwards, causing Banal to follow him. His hands gripped his arms tightly, nails biting into the flesh. Anything to purge the awful light that the dwarf was sending out. 

“That matters to a shemlen?” 

“It means it’s very valuable, Smiley. And it will pay a lot of coin to get it back. Sides it was last seen in the canyon and we have to go there anyways.” Varric shrugged. “Can’t hurt to look for it, right?” 

Banal gave a frustrated growl, one that sounded like a demon clawing its way out of his throat. Varric watched him for a moment as he pulled his lip back in a snarl. “Come on, Smiley, one good deed won’t hurt you.” 

_It just might, Varric._ Banal thought with a hollow feeling inside his chest. _It just might._

***** 

The wolves were all skinned, the demon was dead, and the spiders attacking the Druffalo were in ashes. Sadly, Banal’s spells had failed to hit the giant hairy beast. He frowned deeply as he and the animal locked eyes. 

He felt its fear. What is this thing in front of me? Another wolf? No walks on two legs. Demon? Must be. Banal snorted as the beast pawed the ground in an attempt to scare him. Its eyes were rolling white, its heart quickening as he continued to stare at it. It even tried to raise itself on two legs. His companions were trying to soothe the beast; he knew it was in vain. 

The animal sensed the blackness inside of him. So long as he was there with darkness seeping out to taste this world’s damnedest corners, it wouldn’t be calm. Banal sighed loudly, leaning against the canyon wall and watching. 

Cassandra grabbed hold of the halter, to keep it on the ground while Solas tried some light spell. It crawled over Banal’s skin, like a spider’s web filled with dust. He sneered and let his magic pulse out. 

That just caused the Druffalo to give a loud noise that echoed off the walls, driving Banal’s headache further home. He winced before his anger started to boil over. Just one thought and there’d be Druffalo bits scattered everywhere…No one would miss one stupid beast. Besides right now, all it was good for was leather. It was too old for meat. 

Red started seeping into the corners of his eyes as he glared at the animal. His magic was like flames licking at his mind. It spread through his body, lighting fires in every nerve he had. His heart quickened. 

“Smiley, you could…help you know!” Varric’s voice cut through Banal’s fire. The little dwarf was trying not to get stepped on by the animal or the Seeker. He rolled his eyes. 

“You seem to be doing just fine.” He snarled, the fire not dying. Then the animal let out another noise, one that grated every raw nerve he had. “Fenedhis lasa!” Escaped his mouth as he pushed off the wall. Rage seemed to roll off him as he glared murder at the animal. 

“Easy, Smiley; we need money, not Druffalo Hide.” Varric muttered seeing how the beast began to shake its horned head. Solas ducked in time to avoid taking a tip to the eye. Banal’s body shook. His muscles ached from the amount of magic in them. His insides were on fire. 

“Enough!” He yelled. He shot out a hand, forcing magic through the air. At the last second something possessed him. A vile urge long hidden. He snarled as he forced his magic into the beast’s heart. Panic and fear were running wild there. Banal’s magic licked at it, a lazy cat lapping milk. 

_But don’t gods need people, papae?_ flickered through his mind just as he was about to crush its fluttering heart. _If there were no people, then no one would worship you. So why do you kill them or push them away?...Couldn’t you get more if you helped…_ It was quiet voice, faintly dying as the words were spoken. He couldn’t place them, but his heart clenched tightly to his chest. 

Banal sighed, the red dying away. His magic stilled inside the beast’s heart, the air tense. His companions looked like they were horrified, like he had already killed it. That fluttering in his chest returned. He snarled before pushing his magic further around the heart. 

He had never done this before. He had used his magic to coax anger, fear, hatred, and pride from the heart before. But never had he tried to quell them. His mind, that part connected to the Fade, hissed and bled as he held the heart in a magic cocoon. Gently as he would have with hatred, he pressed the wild heartbeat to go slower. He felt the beast’s muscle strain against his will, but Banal pulled from the docile nature of its blood, coaxing it carefully. 

The large brown eyes relaxed, the beast letting out a tired snort. Banal’s magic was busy ripping open his body it seemed as he struggled to maintain the connection. Bile rose in his throat; light invaded him, scorching his magic. 

“Well…that’s a handy trick…”Varric muttered looking at the Herald. Then he noticed how pale he was becoming, sweat starting to coat his skin. He shook terribly as the magic wafted through the air to the Druffalo. “You alright there, Smiley?” He looked to be in pain, his breaths coming in wildly. 

“Where the… **hell** does this thing go?!” The Herald’s voice was shaking, but still it managed to sound like a demon. It reminded Varric too much of Vengeance or Justice or whatever the spirit called itself. He swallowed loudly before three of them shared a look of concern. 

Was it blood magic? Or some elven spell? Cassandra didn’t know. She wasn’t sure she wanted to as they began guiding the Herald back towards the farmlands. He kept one hand on the Druffalo as they walked. The beast followed his every movement as though a magnetic pull was between them. 

It was slow going down the hill and through the river. The Rift under the waterfall didn’t help matters. Banal let out a cry and curled in on himself for a moment. Black was seeping out the Mark again, but the green light seemed to destroy it. It was eerie really. Cassandra had to balance the elf more than once as they trudged up out of the ravine. 

“Why don’t you lay off the spell, Smiley?” Varric asked watching as the Herald lost another shade of white. The elf sneered at him. 

“It’d bolt.” He growled, bright eyes now an unearthly glow. There was something off about those eyes…more so than usual. Varric studied them for a moment. Then he noticed, the white…was blood red. 

“Shit what happened to your eyes?” He exclaimed. Cassandra and Solas both then peered around to the Herald. 

“Keep moving, or this animal is our dinner.” Banal hissed. He hadn’t felt this much pain and pressure since the Breach. It felt like every part of him was clogged again, the darkness pressing against the corks like a champagne. Cassandra threw his arm around her shoulders as he feet began to stumble. 

Finally, after much cursing and tripping, they managed to get the thing to its pen. Banal felt the surge of delight course through him. It was too much. Banal’s mind recoiled, shoving away from the beast. It immediately ran forward with thunderous strides. Banal heaved a little, trying to stop the world from spinning out from under him. Gently, Cassandra guided him to the ground. She looked at Varric for a moment, before motioning Solas to talk to the farmer. 

“Herald, are you alright?” She asked, pulling one of his eyelids up to better look at the blood there. She had seen this many times with recruits that pushed themselves too hard. It was harmless, but still frightening. 

Banal smacked her hand away. He looked at her dazed. For once he seemed vulnerable, obviously shaken. Too much light was inside him. “I…will never do that again.” He managed to hiss. He turned his eyes to Varric. “Next time you want to save an animal, don’t ask me to help.” 

“You got it, Smiley. You’re no good if you are always passing out on us.” Cassandra heaved him to his feet. 

“Come let’s get back to camp.” She muttered as she practically dragged him to the camp just over the fence. Solas took the coin and followed soon after. Banal was struggling to rid himself of the burning acid in his veins, of uncorking his magic as he was lead into his tent and sat upon the furs. “Get some rest, I have a few questions for you when you wake up.” She pushed him back with little resistance. 

He didn’t want to sleep. He felt memories clawing at him. That tiny little voice was somewhere in his head. It was waiting for him to close his eyes so it could drag him back. He didn’t want to remember. Let him stay like he is, not become what he was. 

Still his eyelids were heavy, his body tired and sore. Even his magic hurt it seemed. As he laid down, Cassandra left the tent. 

That damned Druffalo…was the last thought that passed through his mind before the memories took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooo sorry Banal, I had to cause you much pain in the name of PLOT. Hope you guys enjoyed his banter with Varric and his maybe-blood-magic-maybe-not spell, sorry if it seems a bit rushed or not as polished as the others, I had to crank this one out before my head lost sight of this little boat in the Sea of Thoughts. 
> 
> Got this idea while doing the Druffalo quest (I was goofing off playing DA:I as Banal. And yes I have him on my game so I can write the story better...)
> 
> Oh and I brushed up on my elven. So what Banal says is: Dirthara ma, ma lasa banal dar ar, da'banal'ras. Ma emma harel.  
> Is roughly (and I mean _roughly_ ) translated to: May you learn you are nothing to me, little shadow. You will fear me. It's a bit hard as emma seems to mean I am, or my...so I'm just going out on a limb...  
> I think the BioWare team needs to make up their minds, and hurry up and produce an official dictionary...I mean Skyrim did!
> 
> Alright, thanks for reading, and if you leave a comment THANK YOU, I love hearing from you guys.


	6. White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banal's daughter makes her official debut! Plus Banal quits the Inquisition...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help myself...
> 
> If you've already read the beginning notes on the last chapter, feel free to skip down to the story! If not, please read.
> 
> So before we start off, I wish to do something unconventional and ask you readers for some help. See I have a problem here, I can't decide which side Banal would choose for help with the Breach (after much complaining that he doesn't need help).
> 
> So I'd like to ask you all for your opinions. What would be more interesting: Banal in the Dark Future or Banal and the Envy Demon? You can leave answers in the comments. They can be as detailed or as sparse as you'd like.
> 
> Now just because one side gets more opinions doesn't mean I'll do it. I'm more about quality than quantity. So if you have a reason behind the answer, please share it. I take much more inspiration from reader feedback (that's the only reason why this story is still going so thank you) than you know.
> 
> So if you'll do that for me, we can get the show on the road! Please and Thank you!
> 
> On with the story!

_”I wish every moment of my life could have been like this…” interrupted his thoughts. With a frown, Banal lowered his book to glare at his daughter. She giggled, looking at him with his own eyes._

_“Like what?” He hissed._

_“This. Watching you be in love.” Bile rose in his throat at the mention. What an absurd idea! Him, lord of destruction, feel love? Why it curled his blood just thinking of it. It was a vile poison, a childish feeling meant to give hope that they would not face the world alone. But they would. The darkness inside would push everything away eventually._

_“Do not ever utter that word in my presence again, Vhena.” He growled going back to reading. Her little chuckle stopped him. Why couldn’t he have had another son who would grow to this age and think he was a god, so he could just behead him and get on with his life? Why did he have to have a daughter?_

_“Oh come on, Papae, I’m just teasing.” She snickered. Banal glared at her as she played with a pearly white curl._

_“Teasing is dangling a piece of fresh fruit in front of a starving man. Teasing, Vhena, is bringing someone to the brink of death before letting them slide back into their pathetic mortal shell and beg for release.” He paused as she pouted. “This, this is annoying.”_

_“You’re no fun, Papae.” She huffed. She shifted in her seat, pulling her legs underneath her as a slave entered their home. The slave crawled forward with the tea tray, keeping her eyes from looking into Banal’s._

_Vhena poured the tea, before she began smiling again. It was maddening. This one being of light pervaded the very darkness of his temple. And yet…He could not rid himself of it. He found it fascinating how she laughed, or smiled, how she ran to hug him every time he came back._

_“So…what’s their name?” She probed. Banal narrowed his eyes at her. She tried to act innocent as she sipped her tea. “What? This person keeps you away for months at a time. Can’t I at least know their name?”_

_He contemplated that for a moment, taking his own glass of brandy. “His name is Falon’Din.” He heard her choke on the tea, coughing and spluttering. He chuckled darkly at seeing her wipe the drink from her pale chin._

_“Ir abelas, Papae…Did you say Falon’Din?” She started blotting the stains upon her white robe, grumbling._

_“I did. That a problem?” His tone was one of warning as she eyed him suspiciously._

_“No, of course not. Just surprising that you’d fall in love with a Creator…”_

_“What do you know of love?” He spat the word, his nature balking at the idea of being in love. “It is a fool’s emotion.”_

_“Then you must be a fool, Papae!” She giggled in her singsong voice. Had she been one of his sons and accused him of such things, she would have been lashed, strangled, dismembered, resurrected, and her soul absorbed into him. But Vhena was hard for him to work up any such anger. He sighed knowing she would not drop this. “Careful, the more flustered you get about this, the whiter your streak seems to get!”_

_Self-consciously his fingers reached up to his hair. They brushed the streak that now framed his face, pulled it forward so he could look at the white invading his black. It was half his hair’s length now._

_“I like it personally.” Vhena continued endlessly, smiling the smile that lit up the room._

_“At least one of us does.” Banal sighed returning to his book._

_“So…what’s he like?” She sounded just as she had when she was knee-high and grabbing his braid as she followed him about like some inverse shadow. He eyed her suspiciously._

_“Vhena, are you asking for gossip about your father’s love life?”_

_“No. I’m asking for details about the man that’s made my father fall in love.”_

_“I’m not in love, keep mentioning the word and you won’t have a tongue to say it with.” He threatened though she knew he’d never carry it out. As much as having her silent would make for a pleasing day. He could do without the incessant yammering. He wanted to hear the sweet call of nothing. Just for a little while._

_“Come on, Papae! You never talk about him! You never talk about anything! No one here does!” She whined, setting her tea down to give her full pout. He was hardly ever moved by it, he lacking the ability to empathize and pity and whatnot. But she tried her damnedest. “Please!”_

_Banal sighed loudly. “If it will cease your screeching, then fine.” He growled. She stood and practically skipped to sit beside him on the loveseat. Happiness seeped from her, blinding his magic. But the more white he had, the less it bothered him. It was both unnerving and a blessing._

_“So?” She prodded. He looked at her with a look that screamed I’d rather be gargling acid. “Don’t give me that look. You should know by now, I want to know everything.” She gave her innocent version of his glares._

_“Be careful, Vhena, curiosity leads to dark paths.” He warned. Then sighed again. “What am I supposed to tell you exactly?”_

_“Well, what does he look like?”_

_“What does it matter?”_

_“It matters so I can picture him. So quit stalling and start talking, Papae.” He glared at her again, though her happiness would not be popped as she rested her chin on her hand._

_“Short brown hair, large red eyes. Sun tanned skin, many silver tattoos, likes jewelry of every kind. I swear he has different rings on every time I see him. He has a penchant for fur and silk.” Banal shrugged, not really sure about this talking thing._

_Vhena smiled happily as she closed her eyes, picturing him. “Alright…So what is he the Creator of?”_

_“The Elvhen call him the Guide of the Dead, god of fortune. His twin brother Dirthamen is Keeper of Secrets, god of family and loyalty.”_

_She chuckled watching him recite this with a bored expression. “Is he kind? Funny?”_

_“He is prideful, lustful, and has a dependency issue with his brother.” Banal’s tone was flat. Vhena huffed loudly, blowing a few strands from her face._

_“That’s not what I meant. I mean what do you like about him?”_

_“That is what I like about him. I hate what you want to hear.”_

_“Like what?” She rolled her eyes._

_“He is…far too eloquent. Too dutiful. Also he has a strange sense of honor. One mention that I had a daughter and suddenly I was untouchable.”_

_“Oh how sweet, you mentioned me.” She mocked with a batting of her eyelashes. He snorted._

_“It was during sex and he wanted to know my name. When I told him, he told me it was a terrible name. So I gave him the one you insist upon.”_

_Her smile split her face in two as she giggled. Only his daughter wouldn’t be disturbed or uneasy about the first part of the explanation…He thought with a wry grin._

_“Well at least it’s getting some use.” She joked. Banal rolled his eyes at her attempt at a dirty joke. She had his wit, but lacked his sarcastic abilities along with his dark heart. “You’re his slave right? That’s what the markings mean?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“He doesn’t…hurt you? He’s not a bad owner, right?” She got the look of worry over her face, the one that she often wore when it came to her father. If he wouldn’t be so reckless…So bent on total destruction all the damn time!_

_Banal looked at her with the same look he always returned her worry with. The one with a cocked eyebrow and a dry tone. “He makes me stand by his throne while he tends to what have you. He kisses me without lust and says things so terribly saccharine that it makes my very soul boil.”_

_Vhena laughed her twinkling laugh. “But you love him still, right?” She was going to get him to admit it. One of these days. That little white strand that matched her mess of white, proved to her that he wasn’t all darkness and decay inside. Somewhere there was light._

_He got real quiet, looking at his drink. “He asked me if I loved you once.”_

_Her heart stuttered. He had never once in all her life said he loved her. He was always cold and indifferent towards her. Like she was no different than his priestesses…only related to him by blood and therefore off-limits to anyone and anything. But she never felt as though he hated her as he did pretty much everyone else in the world._

_“I said I didn’t know what love meant.” He glanced at her for a moment, his eyes troubled like there was a war going on inside of him. Much like their eye colors. Two opposing colors, green and red, battled for dominance at any given time. Red bled from the black, while green pressed from the white. They collided into a swirl of colors no mortal could ever have. Gently Vhena grabbed her father’s hand._

_He hated physical contact that wasn’t sex-oriented. He flinched and glared at her pale hand as though it were a cute puppy. But he didn’t shove her away. Banal was used to Vhena’s need for touch; as a babe she was very clingy to him. He often thought of her like a soaked blanket wrapped around his face, suffocating the very nothing inside of him._

_“And what did he say?” she probed._

_“That he’d teach me.” She giggled at the way he scoffed._

_“I’d like to meet him sometime.” Banal’s eyebrows furrowed. That’d go over well. Aneth era Falon’Din, this is my daughter Vhena. Oh don’t mind the screaming outside or the bloodstains on the altar. Also pay no heed to the hundred or so slaves scurrying about to torture some lost soul…Or the three priestesses who are casually talking about how best to skin you. I’m really just some slave…_

_“Oh yes, let’s tell a_ Creator _that I’m the only Forgotten One left alive and that I’d really like to roast them all alive while throwing the world into complete darkness,” He hissed sarcastically._

_Vhena rolled her eyes. “Well then don’t bring him here. Take me to meet him.”_

_“No.” was the short and clipped response. She sighed loudly._

_“I’m seventeen, Papae. I think I can handle myself—“_

_“He or some other pompous elven noble might take you as a slave, on the grounds that I am a slave.” He interrupted, a tone that said no amount of complaining would change his mind. “I would tear his head from his shoulders before I let that happen.”_

_While she was flattered her father would kill the one man that he might love for harming her, she was really tired of being told to stay in this dusty old tomb of a temple. “Papae, why can’t I ever go outside? I just want to—“_

_“There is nothing outside, literally. We’re in a desert, it’s hot, like so damn hot there’s no city anywhere near here. Just sand and the occasional lizard or bird circling some idiot’s corpse.” He growled. This was a frequent conversation between them. He could understand hating being locked up inside here. He had been for a century or two after all. But he would not let anything become of her._

_“Then take me with you for once. I’m out of books to read. I’ve no more fabric to sew. I’ve painted every wall you allowed me to and studied every plant, animal, or corpse you’ve ever brought me. I’m bored here!” She whined loudly. Banal sighed._

_“Vhena, so long as I exist, outside this temple is no place for someone like you.” He looked her straight in the eyes, trying to will her to understand why he didn’t want her leaving. He did not acknowledge the fear that crept in his mind at the thought. He shoved away the nasty panic that arose from thinking of Vhena being gone. He would not falter from his course. He would get Falon’Din to start a new war, one that would plummet the world into darkness once more. Then he would destroy it completely so that only his temple was left, so he could build it anew. One where Vhena could walk about without fear._

_She was the only light he would tolerate in his darkness._

_Banal got up, ending the argument. He scratched the back of his neck before mumbling, “I will ask Falon’Din for something new for you to do. I leave again tomorrow.”_

_“Can you ask him to let you come back more often?” her voice was quiet, as though she was a scolded child again. He looked down at her. Her eyes were averted as she played with her hair. She was worrying and pouting at the same time. She always worried that he might never come back. What if the Creators sniff him out? She doubted they would show him mercy after what they did to him before. She just wanted her father to stay in the temple with her, like he had when she was but a child. At the same time, she wanted to see this world before he could destroy it. But mostly she just wanted to meet the man that cracked open his barrier._

_“I will ask, but I make no promises, ma da’vhenan.”_

Banal awoke with a start. He was cold as ice, sore as hell, and terrified of himself. These memories crept to his mind unbidden. He tried to shove them away. He didn’t want to remember her voice, her little laugh, the way she’d wrinkled her nose when she furrowed her pale eyebrows. He would take the Void again over those memories. 

They brought a pain that had no name. A pain that even he could not stand. His darkness clenched into a ball, settling in his stomach. He had found yet another ghost to haunt his sleep it seemed. 

Banal ran a hand through his hair, wondering what prompted or triggered that memory to come to life again. If only so he’d know how to avoid it in the future. It had to be that Druffalo…Vhena loved little animals. She loved to draw to them, to play with them and other sickly sweet things. Banal, he loved to kill them. His followers loved to eat them. As such, Vhena had quite a few pets before she decided enough was enough. The Temple was not a place for little furry creatures. 

He stood up, trying to escape the other thoughts that accompanied the memory. He would not rub salt into his own wounds…at least not that wound. With a look that could have killed a dragon, he walked out of his tent. The soldiers were going about their morning duties as usual, stopping to salute him only briefly. 

Had he really been out an entire day? 

“Here I thought we’d have to start looking for a new Herald!” Varric called as he walked up to Banal. He was pretty sure his hair was a mess and there was a fine coat of sweat and dirt over his skin, leaving him feel itchy and even more clogged. His magic pores had not reopened during his slumber. He grimaced feeling his magic press against its constraints. 

“I think you should regardless if I’m alive.” He growled. 

“Why because you did one good deed?” 

“And it nearly killed me.” Banal reminded him with a glare. 

“No one said you had to go Druffalo whisperer and make yourself sick.” The dwarf shrugged. Banal’s eyes were itchy as he tried to blink. Instead that seemed to dry them out more, making him squint against the morning light. “You know, with all that blood in your eyes, you look like a demon.” Varric quipped. 

Banal snorted. “Of that, I have no doubt.” 

The dwarf studied him a long while, a confused look upon his face. The feel of eyes sticking to him made him shift uncomfortably. He was not in the mood to deal with curiosity. Then he noticed how everyone had stopped and was staring at him. 

“What?!” He snarled loudly at the shemlen. He looked like a mess, so what? They didn’t look any better after sleeping. They looked worse in his opinion. There was a lack of grace and elegance in the human body he found amusing. Like whatever created them had a sense of humor. Whatever created dwarves also had a sense of humor, he was sure of that after watching Varric try to mount a small horse-like creature. 

“Your hair…” Cassandra started. Banal’s stomach twisted. 

“Did it always have a white spot?” Solas muttered, eyeing him oddly. Banal’s heart plummeted through the ground. At the same time it sped up faster than a hummingbird’s wing. It couldn’t be…He did one thing that didn’t involve bloodshed. One thing. And it was for selfish reasons! His mind spun and careened out of control before he wrenched Cassandra’s shield from her hands and turned it slightly towards the sun. 

His reflection was morphed and odd, but sure enough there was the damnable white spot on the left side of his part. His face turned feral as he glared at the discoloration. His mind turned to seas of blood, to winds of screams, and fields of bodies. If he had to destroy every last country in this miserable world, he would. He would never be that vulnerable again. 

Banal let out a terrifying scream as he hurled the shield to the ground. Magic sparked dangerously around him. The fire that was cooking the morning’s breakfast suddenly faded to blue, rising higher than was possible. It ate all the wood away. Banal didn’t see red this time, he saw black. Everyone scattered backwards, Cassandra pulling out her sword. He felt her pull at the magic, little parts of her managing to contain the endless sea of magic inside him. 

But he pulled more from the Mark, letting black corrupt it. Suddenly every pore of him blew open, lightning striking down at random from a clear sky. His breathing was fast and deep as he searched for something, anything that’d wipe away that one spot. 

He felt another Rift close by and started for it. He was shirtless, and had no staff, but damn if he didn’t look like he could kill them all with his hands right then. No one said anything as they skittered away from him, flames starting to lick at his limbs. 

***** 

They all worried watching him march towards the Rift in the ravine without armor or weapon, but they weren’t sure if he’d stop at just the demons. His scream still hung in the air, more akin to a beast’s roar than anything remotely human. 

Mostly, they wondered what sparked him this time. It was the white spot it seemed. But why would such a thing cause this much anger? And why did he have it? He didn’t seem that old… Barely in his late twenties maybe. Old enough to get white hair? No. Cassandra sheathed her sword hearing screams of demons echo off the rock face. They all stood quietly listening to the sounds of battle. 

Cassandra wasn’t sure if what she was hearing was the demons screaming, or the Herald. 

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. It was bad enough she suspected he might have been a blood mage, or worse possessed. But that darkness that seeped from the Mark… 

Something was very wrong with the Herald… 

***** 

Banal returned, panting and covered in demon blood. He was bleeding from his right arm, the muscle seizing madly, but he still wore that scowl that sent the blood from their faces. Even Varric was finding it hard to diffuse the tension. 

“I quit.” Banal hissed at Cassandra, murder in his eyes. “Take me back to Haven, now.” 

“But—“ 

“I SAID NOW!” His voice had such power, it couldn’t have been from a mortal’s throat. The Seeker took a step back, hand on her sword before she set her jaw. She nodded solemnly as the soldiers all whispered about what would happen if Banal really did leave the Inquisition. Also they wondered who would win in a fight: Banal or Cassandra. 

Varric voted Banal, just for the shear hatred in his glare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calm down, Banal...It's one white spot!
> 
> I've been itching to introduce Banal's daughter and I found that first line (plus her second dialogue line) at puthepromptsonpaper. tumblr. So I went nuts and did it today! What the hey, it's spring break, I don't have to work or go to school, so I can stay up till one in the morning typing a story while my dog begs me to go to sleep, right? Right!
> 
> Thanks for reading and thanks again if you leave your opinions in the comments! You all have such interesting ideas, it's fun to see how you guys think Banal would react in any given situation. 
> 
> Actual plot stuff coming soon, I swear!


	7. Better than a Unicorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forget silver tongued, Varric has a tongue of gold.
> 
> And we find something scarier than Angry Banal...Happy Banal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright you guys can still vote (Dark Future or Envy Demon) below. So far Dark Future is getting more votes. But doesn't mean I'll cater to the majority. (I've got a plan in place for both sides, so fret not)
> 
> And warning: Dark humor ahead
> 
> P.S. Thank you guys so much! I'd give you all a cookie, but that technology has not been invented yet!

The horns had barely finished sounding before the Herald’s horse came barreling down to the gates. It was huffing and puffing, racing faster than it ever had before. It thought it could outrun the demon on its back. 

Banal pulled the horse to a halt near the gates, Cullen jogging to hold on to the reins. But the Herald was not having anything. He jumped out of the saddle before the horse was fully stopped and began heading for the gates. 

“Herald?” Cullen asked tentatively. Cassandra’s reports noted Banal’s hot temper and apathy. 

“Where is the Chancellor?” Banal barked, whirling around to him. Cullen winced as though he’d been struck. His hand reached for his blade. Years of Templar training set off warning bells in his head. Banal was dangerously unhinged, his magic was literally tangible in the very air, like heat coming off desert sands. 

“He has…yet to return, Herald. What is this about?” Cullen’s recruits were all watching as Banal’s fury rolled off him. The little elf’s body shook, his right arm had an obviously dirty and bloody bandage wrapped around its bicep. “Your arm, you should go see Adan.” 

“When the shemlen Chancellor gets here, tell him to come get me.” The Herald hissed, a glare that would have skinned a Qunari. Cullen looked up the path and found the other three coming down. He turned back to ask again, but Banal was making the gates fly open on their hinges, scorch marks biting into the wood. 

On second thought, the Commander did not need to be around an out of control mage right now. Especially one that was the only hope they had for closing the Breach… 

“Seeker, it is good you’ve returned. Leliana’s people have reports out of Val Royeaux and we’ve an influx of recruits.” Cullen grabbed her horse’s reins as the stable hands grabbed the others’. Cassandra’s face was less than amused and more haggard than he’d seen. “The Herald is in a mood, apparently…” He motioned towards the gates. 

She sighed loudly. “He’s…quit the Inquisition.” 

There was a sharp intake of breath all around. Cullen’s gut felt like it had when he was trapped in the Circle: too tight and too sore. He swallowed, letting someone take the horse from him. 

“Can he even do that?” He asked, anger, worry, and panic began to arise in him. If they had no Herald…they didn’t stand a chance at closing anything, much less the Breach. 

“Leliana told him he could go if he wished.” 

“Where did he go, Curly? Maybe I can talk him out it.” Varric offered. He felt a little guilty for having talked Banal into doing something that for whatever reason upset him or hurt him enough to make him quit. 

“I hope so, Varric.” Cassandra grumbled as Cullen pointed to the gates. 

“I think he is heading for the Chantry.” All their stomachs dropped. Please don’t let him destroy it… 

***** 

Banal’s lips were moving in an endless string of elven curses. People parted just from the heat surrounding him, they cowered from the now more frightening glare of their Herald. All the better really. Had anyone dared to talk to him, he’d have roasted them inside out and had a true meal. 

The doors of the Chantry rattled against their hinges as they were shoved back from the magic surrounding him. All the shemlen inside whipped their heads towards him. Josephine paused in her steps to look at the Herald. His hair was a windblown mess, his eyes still swimming in blood. 

The blood and dirt on his clothes made him look like he’d just gone through war. But they didn’t comment as he zeroed in on the door down to the cells. With one last heart stopping glare he stalked for it. 

“Herald?” Mother Giselle took a step forward only to take two steps back with the sudden heat she walked into. His magic was spreading out of his body, the Mark flashing wildly. Darkness was eaten every feeling inside of him. It pressed and strangled the tiny light that flickered in him. It reached out to the dark corners of this world, leeching them inside him. He had no will, no control over it as he threw open the door and slammed it shut. 

All in the Chantry shared a look before one cleric ran to fetch a Templar. Was the Mark becoming unstable again? Or was Banal just losing control of his magic? All were frightening thoughts. 

Inside the belly of the Chantry was cold and dank. Decaying mortar and moss filled the air. There was little light to bother Banal’s now sensitive eyes. The darkness spread from inside his to the outside. He sighed feeling like he just set a dislocated bone. The torches were all snuffed out by this swarm of black. 

His magic, his very soul wafted around him, touching every invisible blood stain and drawing the pain and fear from it. The gloom moved more like moss covered water, tiny breaks in the shadow showed a swirling mass of dark colors. Each had a name. Each had an emotion. Red was lust. Green was fear. Gold was envy. Purple despair. Blue hate. Rustic orange was pride. 

All fed his nature. All were swallowed by the black, the nothing. 

Banal flexed his body, letting the black lick at his wounds. It bit and tore at the white in his hair, in his heart. It tried to poison it once more. But the white was the antidote and shone brighter with every tendril that seeped into it. 

He growled in frustration, storming to the very back where he first woke up. A cell door was slightly open. The very stones of the place sung with screams, fear and starvation. It was nice to hear something familiar. 

The one torch was already dead when Banal entered the open cell and locked himself in there. Not to protect everyone from the swirling mass of dark that emanated from him. But to play a part. And to keep him from encouraging that little white dot to grow. He didn’t know what would happen should it reach the end of his hair. He didn’t want to think about it. 

That wasn’t him. White wasn’t him. 

Banal heard footsteps down the hall. His darkness wished to lash out, suck the person dry, but he reined it in. He quelled it like you would a snarling dog, pushing it back inside and soothing it as it tore at his insides. He would have to do something about it soon. 

He winced feeling pain bloom on his back and sides. He no doubt had bruises there now. Perhaps he could craft something to help him hold his power. His temple was cut off from him it seemed, the tunnel that led to it destroyed. Staves break far too easily. Dar’Misaans had no magical capabilities. But… 

Banal felt the rings inside his pocket from the Rifts. If he could take the residue magic from the Rifts and press it into what have you… 

“So you lock yourself up when you’re angry, Smiley?” Varric’s voice echoed off the walls as he stepped forward. Banal narrowed his eyes. 

“No one is supposed to come down here to bother me.” He growled. 

“Must have missed your missive then. Can't read elven after all.” Banal rolled his eyes, leaning against the stone wall. “But seriously you scared half of the Inquisition and some of the Mothers are begging Curly to send a Templar to test you for possession.” 

“I care not what your shemlen priestesses do or think, Varric.” 

“But you’re waiting for the Chancellor to take you to your execution? That makes a lot of sense…” 

Banal sighed loudly, another flash of pain flaring in his stomach. “Do not misinterpret my actions. I will take out as many as I can before they behead me.” 

“See it’s that attitude that makes people think you caused the Conclave.” Varric smiled as he brought a stool over for him to sit on while he worked at the lock. 

“Perhaps I did and just do not remember it.” Banal would be overjoyed to hear that he had indeed caused that much death and destruction. 

“I hope not, Smiley.” The dwarf muttered as he listened to the tumblers inside the lock for a moment. “You know you’re supposed to give the advisors two weeks’ notice before you quit. So they can go find another elf with a glowing hand.” 

“You seem to be under the illusion that I give a fuck what the Inquisition wants and or needs, Varric.” Banal hissed. “Please allow me to clarify: I don’t. I apologize for any confusion I might have caused.” 

Varric laughed though Banal’s tone was flat and about as joking as Fenris’s. “Oh come on, Smiley, you aren’t that heartless. You got a lot of people out there scared shitless because suddenly the one chance we have at closing the Breach decided to quit.” 

Banal muttered elven curses towards the dwarf as he looked around the tiny cell. Two dirty sleeping rolls sat on the floor. There was rust on the bars, showing its disuse. Still the stones spoke of everything that had happened here. 

“If you think I have a heart, you are sorely mistaken, Varric.” 

“I don’t believe that. If you didn’t have one, you’d have killed all of us by now.” For the love of the Void, the dwarf had a point. But he was also misinterpreting Banal’s motives to keep the Inquisition alive. “We still need you, Smiley. Who else will frighten our nightmares for us?” 

“You said it yourself; what you need is a miracle.” Banal pointed out. “I am the exact opposite of a miracle, Varric. Do not misinterpret my actions as being altruistic. For my motives are far from such drivel.” Banal’s voice spoke a low warning. The dwarf truly didn’t understand what he was trying to talk into helping them. 

Varric was quite thankful he was a dwarf because from the creaking of the bars and slight shuddering of the hinges, something was trying really hard to get out. And the Herald wasn’t it. The Herald was just casually leaning against the wall, a bruise quite literally blooming on his jaw. He had been around enough out of control mages know the faint tickle he had on the back of his neck was magic. 

The dwarf swallowed once before summoning his silver tongue once more. You can do this, Varric. “Well maybe you’re looking at it all wrong, Smiley. Sometimes it takes a disaster for a miracle to happen. Like the last Blight.” 

“And in this analogy, I’m the Blight?” He cocked an eyebrow as the dwarf finally got the door unlocked. Varric stepped back to open it before sitting back down to carry on their conversation without bars between them. 

“No. Just listen. The Warden who ended it had the worst possible luck. First she was almost executed and then almost killed at Ostagar. She was like a walking disaster. But that disaster turned into one of the biggest miracles I’ve ever heard of.” 

“So I’m the disaster you hope will turn into a miracle?” Banal snorted. “That’s like hoping the wild fire that destroys your land will bring new life. You might be waiting a while then, Varric.” 

“Hey, I never said you were going to turn into a miracle. But you are the only chance we got.” 

That was just a sad thought really. Banal loved it. That all these sniveling people looked to him for their salvation once more. But this time, they did not long for the eternal nothing he could grant. They longed for their lives to continue and they would do anything to see it happen. Even if he brought chaos upon the world, they would march blindly to the sounds of breaking bones. 

A smile spread over his face, the one that creeped everyone but Varric out. Varric knew the Herald was talking himself into it. 

“Sides, there’s a lot more things that need to be killed, and I can’t think of anyone who’d be better.” 

“And what would you have me do? Play a shemlen hero? A docile mage? What you people want is against my very nature, Varric.” 

“Our nature isn’t so set in stone, Smiley. People change.” Varric smiled as the Herald pushed off the wall. “So what do you say? Let us keep our anti-Herald and go kill something again?” 

Banal contemplated it for a moment. Could people change? Vhena would say yes. She was always pushing for him to call off world destruction. But in his millennia long life, he had never once changed. He had always been a being of darkness. Always wanted more death, more destruction. He always had the goal of truly destroying the world. 

Then the white sparked inside again, burning his veins. He hissed loudly at the fire. But the black around his vision finally faded. He blinked for a moment, pain almost everywhere on his body. 

“Very well, Varric. I’ll stay.” The dwarf’s smile broke his face it seemed. He relaxed. At least the Seeker wasn’t going to kill him this time. “On one condition.” 

“I’m sure everyone will agree to anything right now, Smiley.” 

“Even a blood sacrifice done in my name?” Banal quipped. He was seriously considering it, just for everyone to stop calling him Herald. Alas, he doubted that would stop anytime soon unless he proved without a doubt he wasn’t some burnt shemlen woman’s prophet. “I shall keep that in mind.” 

“I think we better start small, Smiley. Not everyone is accustomed to you as I am.” Varric joked as they began walking back to the stairs. 

“No more animals, Varric. Either we kill them or they remain lost. Also I don’t do children of any sort. One daughter was enough for me.” Banal looked to the side. 

“You…have a daughter?” Varric sounded bewildered and amazed at the same time. 

“Had, a long time ago.” His voice was distant and quieter than it had ever been. 

“I take it something bad happened to her?” 

“Perhaps.” 

***** 

The whole Inquisition breathed a sigh of relief when the Herald didn’t leave. But he didn’t exactly make an official announcement that he was staying either. For all they knew he was just waiting for Chancellor Roderick to get back. 

Banal kept to himself for a few days, nursing his sore body, struggling to contain his magic. No one questioned him. A few would leave food outside the door of his little hut, but few dared to enter. Adan was one. The gruff apothecary said he couldn’t care less what Banal wanted if it meant his wounds wouldn’t get infected. 

Banal rather liked him. His soul was rough and jagged. But still there was too much light for him to stand to be around Adan more than necessary. Solas also came by, to check the Mark. The Seeker was afraid something was corrupting it from the Fade like a demon had attached itself to Banal. 

Solas of course found nothing. Well nothing the Seeker would understand, and nothing he wished to ask Banal about. He found the chaotic magic seeping from the Mark came from Banal himself. And he found too much of it, which Banal seemed to be quite aware of with all the bruises that were in various stages of healing. Solas wasn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, he feared the Herald would end up destroying himself before they could close the Breach. On the other, he wasn’t sure he wanted to help the dark elf. He wondered if his magic had been this way before the Breach, or if it was recent. If Banal had it all his life, he would have a better understanding than Solas. If not, then Solas was going to have to think of a way to suppress the mess of dark magic inside of him. 

Easier said than done. 

He mentioned to Cassandra that they may have to create something to contain Banal should he go into a tantrum again. He also hinted they would need something to quell the magic inside of him. 

She ordered the few Tranquils and Minaeve to begin researching such things. She also began to sort through the stacks of reports they had accumulated. Many people were showing their support. Some had sent mounts, others arms and armor. The former was good to hear as the Forder was probably never going to allow Banal near it again. Master Dennet had already sent an angry letter to them after they inquired about how to relax the now skittish horses. 

Watchtowers were also ordered to be built after Cassandra pointed out the spots she had managed to mark while they were making their way back to Haven. They also received a concerned letter from Clan Lavellan. 

They warned them to be careful with Banal. Something was dark about him, something should it gain power might tear the world asunder. They cautioned letting him have free reign. Death and destruction followed him they said. But the letter also said that they would not lose him to the Inquisition, he was far too valuable to the Dalish People. Leliana sent a few of her people to bring word to them about Banal. The Clan had promised aid should they ever need it, which was valuable as the Inquisition had few allies and the Dalish were talented scouts and warriors. 

But their warning struck the advisors the most. The Keeper had explained she did not think he was a demon, but neither was he mortal. She didn’t go into much detail, saying it was not hers to tell. But she said enough for the seed of doubt to be sown. Could their Herald be a demon? Or a blood mage? Or something far worse? 

***** 

“What is it now, Shemlen Spy?” Banal complained as he followed Leliana down to the animal pens. She frowned at his name for her, but after travelling with Tabris for so long, she found the usual racial slur comforting. It reminded her of her friend who’d always call them shem, but in an endearing manner. They were her shems. 

“The Mage Collective’s gift has just arrived. I thought you’d like to see it for yourself.” She said quietly. The animals who had been grazing near the fence bolted as Banal got closer. Never before had she met someone who could not get near an animal without it running. 

“And why would I like to see it? It is a horse is it not?” Banal’s tone was of boredom. 

“Well seeing as the Hart tried to kill you and every horse we have runs at the sight of you, we’d hoped this one would prove to be a suitable mount.” 

Banal sighed but continued following her to a little pen they had built just for this creature. She stopped when the animal was in full view, turning to gauge the Herald. His head was cocked to the side, his eyes no longer red but the color of a black bruise. The white spot had grown slightly, but no one mentioned it for fear of another outburst. 

He slowly walked to the pen. “What is it?” 

“They called it the Bog Unicorn.” She explained, not wanting to get too close for the stench. Banal’s nose wrinkled, before he mumbled a spell over the beast. It was simple enough if you had spent enough time with decaying corpses littering your path as he had. Even he could only stand the smell of the dead for so long. 

Varric and Cassandra were also there. The Seeker to ensure the thing was magically safe. And Varric just because it was weird. And creepy. 

“It is not a unicorn…” Banal muttered going to the fence and moving to sit on top of the rails. The beast flicked its chestnut colored tail as it stared at Banal. But it didn’t bite, kick, or stampede, so that was a good sign. “It is better than a unicorn.” He said it like he had indeed found a real unicorn...or a pet dragon. 

“Are you…actually excited, Smiley?” Varric asked in mock disbelief. A strange smile was spreading over Banal’s face. His eyes moved over the taut decaying flesh of the once horse. The mages had done well with stopping the rot, after skinning the hide away to the underskin. Its skull was still covered with skin, but it seemed it had been possessed after losing much of its muscles. Then his eyes went to the sword sticking through its skull like a sick horn. His grin got bigger as he laughed joyously. This was truly a beautiful mount! 

“Aren’t you just the prettiest horse in Inquisition?” He practically cooed to the beast. The horse stepped forward, nearly staking the elf had he not moved to the side. With a gentle hand he stroked down its neck, noting some changed he’d have to make in the bindings. And that he’d have to cast a few more spells of his own to rid it of maggots before they got to the bones. 

Everyone looked at him oddly. “I think the Herald needs his eyes checked…” Varric muttered. Banal felt the dark happiness that he reserved for his torture room bubble to the surface. Imagine the terror this undead animal could bring. Why just the three around him were feeding the gloom again. His body strained, but the horse didn’t shy away. He felt it, the spirit inside the body. It was a weak one, one used to serving other more powerful entities. Banal was no different to it. It just felt the horse’s need to serve, and bonded with its lifeless body. It would serve any cause, even Banal’s bloodlust. 

“Nonsense.” Banal waved his comment away. “My eyes are fully functional. But look at it! Not only is it a horse, but it has utility compared to your other nags!” The excitement in him was something dark and sinister. Cassandra thought she preferred his rage over the twisted smile he now had as he looked over the only thing that wouldn’t run from him. Take your victories where you can. 

“Utility beyond tolerating you?” Leliana asked drily. 

“Well I don’t have to worry about working it to death. It’s already dead! And look!” He pointed to the sword. “It comes with a sword holder!” They bit back a groan at the bad joke. Banal seemed to almost giggle at himself. “Plus it can stab people with it, or I can take it and start hacking at things. What could be better?” 

He turned to them. They had varying degrees of disgust and disbelief as they looked at him. His dark smile scared them as much as the horse did. But at least they found something he enjoyed. 

Now they just had to convince him to go to Val Royaeux…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such a terrible person! XD Bad self! Bad jokes!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed Banal getting happy about an undead horse! Val Royeaux is next! And then the chapter where I make up my mind!
> 
> Thanks for reading! And Thanks for all the people who have commented! And all the people who might comment on this one!


	8. City of Maggots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banal finally gets to Val Royaeux, it goes on the list, and Banal becomes such a fashion critic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say this story hit 1000 hits (which is a big deal for me) and I just want to say THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH YOU KIND SOULS WHO LOVE MY TWISTED CHARACTER!!! 
> 
> *ahem* I mean, thanks and stuff for reading. ;)
> 
> Some in game dialogue and/or spoilers in the following chapter! (All of which belong to the cruel writers at BioWare)

“The city still mourns…” Cassandra said as she looked around. 

“If this is mourning, I do not ever wish to see it happy…” The Herald muttered drily. There was so much white and blue and gold everywhere that for a moment Banal was back in days of old, in Falon’Din’s temples. He remembered large gold statues that could be used to close and open gates. Large mosaics had decorated the walls along with huge murals and frescos. Even the floors were finely crafted, some with gold leafed metal overtop to look like vines as in Mythal’s temple. 

But this…This was Orlais. This city alone was an assault on nearly every sense he had! And it revolted him. Where the Elvhen had functionality in their designs, telling stories through pictures, and having just subtle hints at extravagance (much like Elvhen magic), Orlais put a façade on the weak and decrepit. They hid the cracks, the mold, the rot underneath white plaster and an obscene shade of blue. Pathways were a nauseating design of different stones. And the amount of banners and fabric! 

Gold lions were about as tasteful as he was going to get it seemed and even then they were everywhere. He couldn’t begin to describe the revolting repeat of Andraste symbols that seemed to be **everywhere**. There was some screeches pretending to be musical somewhere in the city, accompanied by too many shemlen talking at once. It was like a horrendous ball. 

Then the smell. Oh for the love of everything dark and dank in the world, the smell. Every musky, heady, incredibly tacky fake-flower scent that could have existed was there. And some that didn’t exist were even there. 

On the plus side, the amount of blood, horror, rage, and envy here was enough to combat the urge to vomit. His darkness that was straining more and more, snaked out discreetly to lap up the pain that permeated every stone. Had Banal put magic into his eyes, he would have seen this city of white and gold begin to crawl. The streets would flash red as it writhed, screams of every life claimed by the Game orchestrating the waltz. The walls would ooze black slime, reaching out to drown more. The entire city would be infested, infected, and festering. 

And he came to the conclusion that the first place he’d destroy would be this pompous city of maggots within minutes of walking the bridge towards the Summer Bazaar. Banal sneered as they started for the gate. A woman with a mask was walking towards them. If Banal thought there couldn’t be anything more obscenely tacky than the city, he was wrong. So wrong. She looked like all her mass was squeezed from her middle into that skirt. The amount of gold thread on her should have been illegal, and the light turquoise bow on the back should have gotten her executed. The only thing he found acceptable was the fact that with a few more tugs on her corset, Banal could easily snap her ribs into her heart and lungs. Or strangle her with the bow. 

The woman glanced in his direction as he stopped to wonder how well blood would look on the beige skirt. She gasped theatrically before quite literally running away. “Just a guess Seeker, but I think they know who we are…” Varric commented as Banal followed Cassandra. 

“Your skills of observation never cease to impress me, Varric.” Cassandra hissed. The closer they approached the Bazaar, the more Banal noticed that every piece of architecture was built like the most extravagant chapel. He vaguely wondered what the slums were like at this rate. 

An Inquisition scout greeted them, but Banal was too busy looking at the statues that lined the path. They weren’t gold, which was the biggest shock, but marble. And he couldn’t figure out why the shemlen erected statues of the man who condemned their prophet to the pyre. Banal chalked it up to sadism. 

“Finding something entertaining, Smiley?” Varric asked coming up beside him. 

“Of course, how could I not find this idiotic display of power made by powerless beings funny?” Banal scoffed. “Look there,” He pointed to an archway further down, “One well placed fireball and this entire section would collapse.” 

“That’s Orlais for you. Practicality no where in sight.” Varric shrugged with a smile. “Thought you’d appreciate the display of power though.” 

“Why would I? They are nothing but sniveling puppets acting as though they were the puppeteer. No matter what they do, how they try to hide, in their veins lies the blood of mongrels, scavenging ruins, fighting each other, and fucking their own siblings. No amount of gold and cloth will change that they are just shemlen.” 

Varric stared at him for a moment as his bruised eyes hardened into a hatred he’d never seen before. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to comment on that rather dark comment. 

“Come, seems the Templars have come to greet us.” Cassandra interrupted. 

“Oh marvelous,” Banal rolled his eyes. “I make no promises not to kill anyone.” 

***** 

“The Maker would send no elf in our time of need!” Indeed the ‘Maker’ wouldn’t send this particular elf, Banal thought with a snicker. But he kept his gaze even, more contempt in his dragon eyes than usual. The priestess or whatever she was called faltered slightly looking at him. 

All eyes were on him. “Enough,” His voice boomed around him, silencing every murmur the crowd had. “I care not what you think or believe, shemlen priestess, mother, cleric whatever you are. I was merely told to come here and speak. Obviously all you wish to do is desperately cling to power you lost ages ago.” Banal waved his hand in dismissal. “Pray on the fear of the ill-educated, if you must, but do no spout your self-serving lies in my presence.” _It only gives me more power over you…_ Banal finished in his head. 

Cassandra stared at him for a moment, shocked he didn’t threaten her, but horrified he insulted the crowd. Banal smirked at her. In truth, his magic was kindling the little spark of fear, that little thread of doubt she had in her heart. Was he truly sent by the Maker? If he was, then she was little more than Tevinter or Maferath. 

Her fear, one similar to an apprentice looking into the eyes of a demon for the first time, was delicious. He saw how she saw himself. Hair blacker than the night of a new moon, eyes a wild chaos that’d be more fit on a dragon, skin that had not seen sunlight before… 

Fear was different than hate and anger in it didn’t have bite to it. It was sweet, like fresh water to his soul. Green tendrils snaked into the gloom, the shadow kissing it tenderly as though a child. It brought a smile to his face as sweat began to condense under that strange hat. 

“It is already too late!” Clanking armor brought Banal’s mind to his right. A brigade of Templars marched towards the platform lead by a man that suddenly had Banal’s full attention. There was something dark about him, this gray haired Templar with a sickly colored skin tone. Something was leaking out from him. The face seemed to shimmer, become but a mirror to reflect or mimic something true. 

This shall be interesting, Banal thought with a grin as the Templar mounted the stage. The shemlen woman looked pleased with herself…until a fist knocked her unconscious. Banal frowned at that. Not because they hit her. But because he was disgusted they didn’t snap her neck. Come on! He growled to himself. She had turned her head and it would’ve been simple to just _crack_ and be done with it! 

Banal didn’t announce his displeasure, knowing full well that wouldn’t accomplish anything he needed to do. “At least it wasn’t me.” He commented aloud. Cassandra shot him a glare before trying to talk to the mirror thing. 

“Lord Seeker, it’s imperative that we speak with—“ 

“You will not address me.” Came the answer. For all intents and purposes, it sounded human. But Banal’s sick tendrils tasted the words in the air, found tiny fragments of wrong inside them. They were fractured, pieces in a voice of a demon. Ah, that makes sense… 

Banal smiled listening to the ‘Templar’ claim he was the only one that mattered. He laughed loudly at the man, a dark resounding laugh. Everyone turned to him as he leaned against his new staff. 

“If you proclaim it loud enough,” Banal explained with a mocking grin. “perhaps someone will eventually believe you.” He made his body become languid, his eyes those of a cat watching prey lazily. “Tell me, _Lord Seeker_ ” He made it sound like a joke, “why have you come here? To try and grab power you cannot have?” 

“I came here to see what frightened old women so, and to laugh.” Banal rolled his eyes, still with a mocking smile at the demon’s attempt to get under his skin. He just wondered what demon, and if it had possessed the body. He couldn’t tell, and didn’t know if a Templar could be possessed. 

The man started on another speech after silencing another knight. But Banal summoned magic to his voice once more and spoke over him. “Spare me your petty attempts at showing power, shemlen. Retreat, should I have need of you, I shall call.” Banal made a rude dismissal with his hand before turning around. No greater insult to a being who loved power, showing them your back meant you did not fear them. 

He waited for someone to make a move, but all he heard was tense silence. He smiled at Varric and Solas who tentatively began approaching him and the Seeker. The clanking of armor began and faded. 

“Wow, Smiley. Didn’t think you could be diplomatic…or at least your version of diplomatic.” Varric commented as he approached. Banal snorted at the dwarf. “A few lessons from Ruffles and Nightingale and you might be able to play the Game yet.” 

“I know this Game well, Varric. I’ve played it hundreds of times. Even when I lose, I win.” He smirked as the dwarf shook his head. 

“Has the Lord Seeker lost his mind?” Cassandra breathed out, watching them retreat to somewhere else. 

“Most likely if he thinks he matters more than the mage with the glowing hand…” Banal commented absently. Cassandra glared her disapproval at his pride before sighing again. 

“There must be some in the Order who see what he has become…” 

“Oh there are many.” He mumbled, still tasting the fear and doubt that lingered in the knights’ hearts. Not all of them trusted the Seeker entirely. Banal what he could to foster that doubt, should he have need of it. But he was starting to wonder what it would be like to allow the demon to continue its masquerade. It would be interesting to say the least… 

“We best return to Haven. The others will want to know what happened here.” 

***** 

As it turned out, there was more for them to do in the damnable city than they had thought. A merchant named Belle, an arrow shot into his path, and a Circle messenger, had all stopped Banal. The merchant was easy enough to get rid of. He just told her to head to Haven, and to bring better food than the shit they were feeding him. 

The arrow had instructions to find red things. At first Banal considered burning the piece of paper with the markings that had little meaning to him. But Varric had snatched it and read it to him. The dwarf also commented that the Inquisition needed all the help it could get. Banal had to admit he had a point. The Inquisition was in a pitiful state. Cullen’s recruits could easily be killed, despite the Templar training program, Leliana’s spies were limited at best and more likely to turn traitor, and so far Banal’s inner circle was limited to the three that kept following him. 

Someday he’d like to be rid of Solas after all. 

With a loud and angry sigh, Banal forced himself to search for these hidden things. In the process he was stopped by a messenger and given yet another letter. 

“Do these people not understand that I don’t read shemlen?!” He growled turning the paper every which way to find something legible. Oh sure the writing was elegant and clean but the markings were odd and crude to the elf. “Honestly, I could understand horse better than this!” 

“First off it’s not called shemlen, Smiley. It’s trade tongue.” Varric laughed. “Secondly, maybe you should learn unless you want to keep taking our word on it.” 

“I couldn’t care less what the note says or what anything says for that matter.” Banal handed the piece of paper to the dwarf who skimmed over it. 

“This is an invitation to some soiree in Duke Bastian’s mansion.” He commented. “Some Enchanter wants to meet you.” 

“Oh yes, let’s invite the Herald who’d rather be roasting shemlen eyes over a bonfire to shemlen party! Brilliant.” Banal rolled his eyes. “Remind me again: how are humans the ruling race?” 

Cassandra groaned, “You should go. It would be rude otherwise.” 

“Seeker, are you accusing our dear Herald of having manners?” Varric mocked disbelief. Both he and Banal snickered. 

“Believe it or not, durgen’len, but I actually am of a better stock than most elvhen.” He said with a knowing grin. “Modern nobility are mere trivialities to what I’ve dealt with before.” 

“Is there some hidden elven kingdom hidden deep in the mountains that we don’t know about?” Varric asked skeptically. He had heard through the Seeker that Clan Lavellan was worried about losing Banal, but they were also worried about what he would do. If he was some sort of elven nobility (and he’d be the first Varric had ever met), then Orlais had better watch its back… 

Banal merely snorted and continued to search for the hidden objects. 

Which turned out to be a key, a time, and a map. Which lead them to the current back alley they were standing in. Banal was grumbling about this being a waste of his time when they spotted humans whispering. 

From the few words he got, it had something to do with the Inquisition and destruction. 

“Oh you know it’s terribly rude to whisper about me when I’m right here.” Banal joked drily. Cassandra found that odd. Since the incident with the Druffalo, and then again with the undead horse, Banal’s moods were lighter. Still disturbing, but lighter. A snap brought her back to reality just as flames erupted from the humans’ feet and burnt them to the bone. “Next.” He cooed, letting lightning shoot from the sky and strike down the remaining guard. 

“You seem much happier, Banal…” She commented as he shifted through the ashes. 

“Of course, no one’s asked me for help.” Banal looked at her with a blank face that told her, he wasn’t joking. Then he smiled that smile that sent shivers down her spine and upset her stomach. “Plus me being happy frightens you more.” 

***** 

So far in this trip to a city of maggots, Banal had gained a number one target when it came to destroying the world, watched a shemlen priestess get knocked out, recruited one agent, found an annoyingly crazed elf who made as much sense as Orlesian fashion, and a headache. 

The headache was only growing as he walked up the steps to the terribly Orlesian manor. There were hundreds of candles, even outside. The tiny lights twinkled off the waters that were overly abundant on the grounds. Music could be heard even from the shadowed area he stood in. He was waiting, watching for the right time. 

Go in too early and he’d be forced to massacre the entire party for merely existing. Too late and he’d miss seeing the next insane cast off he got to follow him around. Thus he watched, letting his inner shadow cloak him from sight. 

Inside the bundle of darkness, he could see and sense everything. Subtle power plays were in effect here. Bitter anger and sweet regret clung to many guests like a cheap perfume. Of course there was some levity that burned him when he got too close, but mostly it was a tantalizing mix of fear and pride. 

After his magic had drunk its fill, producing at least two new bruises in the process, Banal stepped inside. He was hardly dressed for the occasion what with dark apprentice armor and not a speck of silk to be seen, but that just made for a better entrance. 

“Master Lavellan on behalf of the Inquisition.” The announcer bellowed. He’d have to correct who ever told the man his name was Lavellan. While not entirely wrong, the sudden pain in his heart, told him to distance himself from the name entirely. Banal was vaguely aware of two guests talking to him; he remained apathetic. The Orlesians may think they invented the Game, but in truth Banal had invented, and perfected it. 

“Everything you’ve heard completely true.” _Especially the parts where I’m your darkest nightmares come to life_. 

“Better and better. The Inquisition should attend more of these parties.” The woman seemed to be smiling, but Banal couldn’t tell what with her dress’s collar eating her face. Could she even breathe? He hoped not. Any more small talk and he was going to show them how to have a real party. 

“…What a load of pig shit.” Came a new voice. It silenced all the others in the room so Banal turned to the speaker. His face was utterly bored. The man who spoke came down the steps, glaring hotly at him as though he’d raped his mother. 

“Everyone knows it’s just so political outcasts can grab power.” Banal focused on the accent mostly. He hated it. It grated on his nerves. It was…sickly sweet to his ears and like shoving glass through them at the same time. How could they even talk? It sounded like they were tripping over the mere sounds of words. 

Then Banal focused on the man. Such darkness came from him. Anger, despair, lust, and pride. Mostly despair. His magic felt heavy from drinking too much of the city’s darkness so he didn’t bother trying with that idiot shem. Instead he yawned like a lazy cat. 

“Are you quite through?” He asked in his I-don’t-give-a-fuck tone. The man stuttered to a stop, hand on the hilt of his sword. “I do recommend you think twice before drawing that. You might hurt yourself.” He mocked. The man’s hand tightened around the insanely ornate handle. Just as Banal began to summon fire, an ice spell broke over the man’s skin. Not enough to kill him, but enough to freeze him in place. 

Shame. 

“How rude of you to use such language in my house...to my guests.” Said the woman descending the other set of stairs. Banal watched her with the eyes of a cat. A cat about to rip someone’s throat out if he had to suffer twenty more breathes inside this cocoon of shemlen sweat and perfume. 

“Madame Vivienne, I humbly beg your forgiveness.” The man spoke fast, fear in his tone. Finally she makes a damn appearance. 

“You should. Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” Her clothes reminded Banal of a dragon, which was a step up from the moth attire he’d seen one woman wearing. And she wasn’t in a dress, or robe, but had something far more functional: pants. Still the Orlesian headdress, mask, heels, and whatever was on her shoulders more than made up for it in the ridiculous department. 

Her voice was cold, and made him think of a snake or perhaps a Siren about to drag him overboard. There was darkness in her too. Fear and pride were predominant. Banal could work with that; nothing was deadlier than prideful fear. But then again, he noted the ice walls she had put up around that. She knew her power, which made Banal be on guard if only a tad. Which is to say not at all. 

“My lord you are the wound party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish foolish man?” She turned to him. Her voice was patronizing as though he were some wounded lord incapable of beheading the man six different ways from Tuesday. 

Banal eyed her for a moment. He weighed his options. Cassandra had warned him to behave, not that that mattered to him. His nature longed for blood to be spilt, to stain that gaudy marble flooring at least, and this man provided an opportunity. At the same time, he couldn’t allow some shemlen to do it for him. That just wasn’t fun. He couldn’t feel blood run through his fingers, swimming into the little crevices under his nails… 

“I couldn’t care less what you do with the shemlen. Let him scurry back to whatever gutter created him.” 

That seemed to be the right answer as Vivienne snapped her fingers and the man slunk away. Banal had plans for him. A smile broke over his face as he watched the man retreat. At least the trip wouldn’t be a total waste. 

***** 

Banal waited till he knew his companions were all asleep in their respective rooms. Somehow Josephine found funds to procure lodging in an inn not far out of Val Royaeux. Not that it was an upgrade from sleeping on the ground… With a pang, he longed for his own bed, or Falon’Din’s both of which had stone bases but were still more comfortable than whatever it was he sat on. 

With light footsteps, Banal crept outside, letting his magic wrap around him once more. It would merely seem like a shadow had shifted or the air had to an outsider looking at him. He knew he had to be quick before Solas sniffed out his magic. 

The bald elf thought Banal didn’t realize him working to create some object to suppress it all. But he did. Honestly, he didn’t care, saved him the trouble. Still, no need to let on there was more to the story than was necessary. For whatever reason, he didn’t trust the apostate. Some warning bell flickered inside his mind, like he’d known Solas from somewhere else. 

Ah but memories cause Banal more grief than living in the now. So he pushed it aside, refusing to scratch the walls he was building. White wasn’t him, and he wouldn’t tolerate more flashbacks. 

Quietly, Banal slipped into the stables and retrieved the fully awake horse. He cooed to it like it was a beloved child, the only time such words did not sear his tongue. He even picked out a name for it: Din’an. Whether the horse or the spirit was pleased with having a name, he didn’t care. He just took pleasure in feeling its rotten skin beneath his hand as he guided it out into the night. 

Plus it didn’t make a fuss when he spread his magic over it. 

They stole silently into the night back towards Val Royaeux. And they didn’t return till nearly daybreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was late. In my defense I was drawing Banal. Got his appearance all worked out, along with his ancient battle armor, just need an outfit for Halamshiral (Because honestly that thing was horrendous), his Skyhold attire (oh my god don't talk to me about it), and his ancient god robes (or whatever you'd like to call it).
> 
> So I don't know if I want to write the real ending of this chapter. If I do, I might just do another work called Secrets and store all the parts that aren't really needed in any of my stories (this, Of Peacocks and Wolves, and any other ones I decide to post to the Dragon Age fandom)... I don't know though. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Next chapter we see who wins the debate!


	9. Birds of a Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so Banal sets out to get help with the Breach (finally) and we see that he shares some personality traits with Madame de Fer...

“You’ve never been to a Circle as far as I can tell, yet you’re remarkably skilled.” Vivienne commented as they sat around the fire in the Hinterlands. The others vaguely paid attention to the fact that someone willingly (and wasn’t Varric) engage Banal in conversation. So far the four new members of the Inquisition stayed clear of Banal. Sera because he was a mage with somewhat unstable powers, Bull for the same reason (plus the elf was hard for him to read), Blackwall because they literally just found him, and Vivienne because Banal avoided the Chantry like the plague. 

Banal’s eyes rolled over to her with an identical look of apathy. Everyone looked back and forth at the two. Iron Lady versus Smiley the Dragon Elf. Match up of the century right there. 

“Were you self taught?” She asked in that odd accent. Banal cocked an eyebrow. No one had asked him before how he learned magic. Truth be told, he didn’t remember how. He just remembered always having it, always knowing how to wield a sword and cast spells with a mere thought. 

Banal snorted at her. “Elvhen do not need some Chantry prison wardens to teach them magic. It is their blood, their very breath.” The flames flickered blue for a bit as he spoke as though to emphasis his point. “Did you have a point?” his body was aching for sleep, but that little white light in the back of his mind lit up. 

His stomach twisted around the food he had eaten for dinner. His body convulsed and twitched at his magic dancing under his skin. But even though it seemed his body was killing itself, he wouldn’t surrender to the dreams. 

“You are fortunate you are a quick learner then. In my own experience nothing is deadlier to a young mage than a lack of knowledge.” Vivienne continued as though they were still at her salon. 

Banal gave a real chuckle. “You don’t know the half of it.” He snorted. How many Dreamers did he break before they could even begin to understand their powers? Hundreds? Thousands? And how many Dreamers did he control? Made them commit heinous acts? Why he overthrew several Elvhen lords merely by controlling their wives or children through their dreams. He smiled darkly at the fire, remembering such chaos: wives waking only to find their husband dead at their feet, hands covered in blood. Parents startling awake to find their youngest draining them. 

“It makes the current situation precarious.” Drew him back to the dark skinned mage. He always felt she was merely entertaining him, patronizing him. It was odd to see his same mannerisms in a shemlen. “What do you suppose will happen if the Circles are not restored? Do you foresee the Dalish taking us all under their wings?” 

“Dalish Clans don’t allow for more than three mages in the Clan at a time.” Bull noted from his spot across from her. “Right, boss?” 

“How should I know? I spent one year with a Clan before ending up surrounded by shemlen.” Banal growled. Dalish this and Dalish that, were they testing him for some reason? “Either way,” He looked at Vivienne and with a sneer said, “Vivienne, you seem to think I have the ability to fix your shemlen problems.” 

She scoffed, giving him a look one would reserve for a small child. “For almost a thousand years, people have looked to the Chantry for direction. Now many believe you are the agent of his will. Whatever the truth is, that belief gives you power.” 

Banal snorted, stifling a yawn as he stretched his back like a cat. He thought about it for a moment. If he could fix the mess he was constantly mopping up, would he? No. But sadly it was seeming to him that he was going to have to. If only to gain more lackeys to be played with. So he thought of what would cause the most chaos. Chaos created opportunities for people such as him. 

If he kept the mages free, more fear and chaos would ensue. People were adamant about locking up those who could burn them. They were frightened. Which meant more power for Banal’s dark heart. But fear was the weakest, it motivated the greater powers sure but by itself it was weak. Just as envy was weak. Anger and Pride were his favorites. The shock of pride inside him was tantalizing like good foreplay while the burn of rage was more like rough sex. Fear and envy barely got him off. 

But recreate the Circles, anger at being locked up like beasts, and the swelling pride of both the mages and Templars…well that would be satisfying, wouldn’t it? 

However, Banal knew better than to reveal his cards and thoughts to this enchantress or any of his companions really. The less they knew, the more Banal could accomplish before they caught on. 

“In truth I grow weary of having to mop up some shemlen’s mess. The way I see it there are three possibilities.” He held up three fingers, looking at his companions. “One lock the mages up and throw away the key.” 

“Does that include you, Smiley?” Varric asked. He remembered Hawke becoming so upset after his mother’s death that he was willing to lock himself up in the Circle had Fenris and Varric not talked him out of it. 

Banal’s laughed echoed off the night sky. “Of course not, Varric. I am no ordinary mage. A prison could not hold me. Moreover I’d rip out anyone’s heart and skip rope with their entrails if they tried.” He smiled at the dwarf, a wicked grin that said he could. “Anyway, second option is to turn every Templar into a drooling vegetable on the cellar floor. That would take quite a bit of lyrium, however.” 

“How is that an option?!” Cassandra stammered. Banal turned his smile to her. 

“This war has only continued because of the bigots on both sides. You take one out of the picture, the other would move on to something productive like world domination.” 

“You can’t possibly think it’s that simple.” 

“It is.” Sera spoke up. Banal despised her the most out of all his companions. She spoke in some strange form of idiot’s poetry and had the mannerisms of an oxen’s ass. And then her first comment to him was: hope you aren’t too elfy. How could an _elf_ be _too_ elfy? “They’re too busy to look up where the real questions are.” 

“Right, it’s a simple job: end all war and stitch the sky.” Bull rolled his eye while Banal snorted. 

“I never said I was going to end _all_ war.” He mumbled. Quite the opposite in fact. Create a war to dwarf all other wars, and destroy everything really. “All I care about is closing the damn hole. To the Void with the rest.” 

“Best plan I’ve ever heard.” Sera snorted. “Actually it’s the only plan I’ve ever heard.” 

“What’s option number three?” Blackwall asked as he took a moment to look up from sharpening his sword. 

“Well technically there’s four options but I didn’t think killing everyone would go over well.” Banal chuckled. The newer companions stared at him in disbelief, save for the Bull since to him that was an option. Not a very plausible option though. “But option number three is…” He faded off for a moment. The thought that crossed his mind wasn’t his usual dark. It was grey. He furrowed his eyebrows and glared at the ground. 

“Banal?” He paid the speaker no heed. He followed the thought stemming from that damn white somewhere inside him. It was the thought of Arlathan, how there were no Templars. There was no need. Elvhen were taught to embrace their magic, to never fear it. For fear created demons. Fear created rage, envy, and pride, which created him. That option was no option at all. It’d destroy him. Without people fearing the unknown, magic, and what have you, there’d be little to feed on. It’d make him mortal…or as mortal as his Elvhen blood would allow. 

“I…think it is getting late.” He mumbled before standing and walking back to his tent. His back was stiff, his jaw a hard line of tension. Red was bleeding into his vision as he disappeared into the black of his shelter. 

“Is he always like that?” Blackwall asked. 

“Like what?” Solas countered. 

“Distant, cold, cruel, and whatever else?” 

“Oh, yes.” 

“You’ll get used to Smiley's special brand of heroism soon.” 

***** 

_Banal looked around the forest, feeling something watching him. Falon’Din slid behind a large tree, pulling his magic tightly against his skin. He waited till bare feet could be heard moving away from him._

_Where are you going? He wondered as he peeked around the tree again. Luckily for the Creator, sneaking about in the shadows wasn’t something unusual for him. He waited for Banal’s back to be at least fifty yards from him before stepping out to follow._

_It’s one thing to leave after sex, it’s another to sneak out after sex. Banal had done it one too many times and Falon’Din had had enough. His brain thought of horrid possibilities, another lover, another master, Banal selling information, or stealing. Well, he would see, wouldn’t he?_

_He followed him through the forest outside the temple for a few hours, going around in circles it seemed before the dark haired elf stopped. There was a little archway with two grotesque statue guardians on either side. Vines were slowly consuming the dark remnant._

_Falon’Din made out one marking. It was elven for darkness. He furrowed his eyebrows as Banal drew magic around himself. But it wasn’t ordinary magic. It was black. It swirled around him, before he shoved it at the archway. It collided with a magic barrier, which absorbed it. The markings lit up, the statues lit up and moved. They turned their horned heads towards Banal before removing their staves from the entrance._

_It was the oddest Eluvian he’d ever seen, Falon’Din thought to himself as he watched the other elf disappear through the liquid-like surface. Where does it lead? He’d never seen its other half in the Beyond before…_

_Falon’Din darted from his hiding place, ducking under the staves and slipping inside before it sealed shut. Inside he shivered. This was not the Beyond or the In Between either. It was hollow, devoid of anything. Vaguely the Guide could feel the Beyond somewhere beyond this tunnel of shifting mists. But aside from that glimmer of magic, there was nothing. Banal wasn’t even present._

_“Where did you go?” Falon’Din muttered quietly, taking a few steps forward._

_“Look behind you and find out.” He heart stopped at the guttural threat in those words. It sent shivers up his spine as he slowly turned around. Banal was glaring upwards at him with those dangerous eyes. A feral smile was on his lips as Falon’Din swallowed. He was suddenly aware of the amount of power the dark haired elf had. “Question is why are you here?”_

_Falon’Din attempted to mask his discomfort by standing taller, taking a prideful air that only narrowed Banal’s eyes further. “You did not expect me to allow your sneaking about to continue did you?”_

_A dark chuckle bubbled out of the man. “You should have.”_

_In a blink, Falon’Din’s throat was constricted, his back pressing against the invisible walls of the tunnel. The Creator’s heart began beating faster than a hummingbird. His head throbbed from blood pleading to leave it. His lungs screamed for air. Weakly, with spots in his eyes, he clawed at the hands around his throat, focusing entirely on those dark eyes._

_At the moment they were nothing but hatred, of a primal desire to kill. It frightened him beyond measure. But it hurt too. Despite his better judgment, he was falling in love with the dark elf. Plus, Falon’Din was acutely aware that he was far from his temple and Banal could easily kill him._

_As the black began eating away at Falon’Din’s sight, something flickered over Banal’s face. With a loud growl, he dropped the Creator and took a step back, cursing. Falon’Din slid to the ground coughing._

_Banal had killed hundreds of lovers when he was done with them. One more wouldn’t bother him, but…He tried to tell himself it was because he still had a need for the Guide, and nothing to do with the twisting in his gut._

_“The only reason why you are still breathing,” He spat looking down at the Creator with contempt and disgust, “is because Vhena wishes to meet you.”_

_Falon’Din blinked, rubbing his throat. “Vhena?” The name was unfamiliar. He struggled to his feet._

_“Yes, Vhena.” Banal growled, turning back to the tunnel. “And since you attempted to sneak in…well it wouldn’t do any good to kill you here.” Banal snorted, beginning to walk away. “Garas.”_

_Falon’Din bristled at being told what to do. He was about to demand to be let go when Banal looked over his shoulder slightly. “You are far from your temple, Creator. Do not forget that.”_

_The Guide swallowed before following along the dreary pathway. It didn’t take long for them to pass through another gateway into a world of pure darkness. Falon’Din blinked, squinted, and tried to sense what felt like an endless sea of gloom._

_“Andran’banalhan.” Made the Creator jump. It was three voices speaking in unison that appeared out of the darkness. They reminded him of snakes hissing and a cat’s purr. He suddenly felt like he was dinner._

_“Andran’banalhan.” Banal replied. Falon’Din knew he was standing next to him from the heat, but that was only heat coming from the entire cavern. Where the bloody hell was he?_

_“Not to be demanding, but I can’t see a thing…” The Creator spoke up, getting the crawling feeling he was being watched all around. What good was night vision if he couldn’t see anything? He thought bitterly, realizing there was no light anywhere._

_Banal’s low chuckled frightened him for a moment before Veilfires sprang to life and revealed a large hall. At first glance it was just like any other Elvhen temple, but with darker stones. But then one saw the blood congealing on the floors, the bones, the gruesome décor, and the statues wearing skulls for crowns. One also then noticed the walls had every manner of bug and were built from bones. In little alcoves stood hooded people with only their feral grins showing, lips black and veins too noticeable under too pale skin._

_In front of them was a throne crafted from the same stone as the floor. It sat elevated from the rest on a platform. On either side of the room were narrow moats glistening horrific red, little bridges connecting each alcove and the two side passageways. In front of the garishly dark throne below the platform was an old stone basin stained with blood._

_Falon’Din’s face went white. He’d been here before. Though at the time it had been in a lush swamp, rather than was seemed to be a desert if the sand starting to enter the room was any guess._

_He looked at Banal, who was smiling evilly. His mind refused to believe the eldest had not killed all of the Forgotten Ones. He had seen it himself. His followers had helped carve away the names. Perhaps he was merely a delusional follower…_

_“What’s the matter, Falon’Din? Demon got your tongue?” He swallowed loudly, suddenly remembering the being before him._

_“Not at all…it’s just…” He looked around at the room, noting the bowing priestesses looking at him with unsettling smiles. “the stench takes my breath away.” Falon’Din attempted to remain calm. He could talk his way out of this…But the more he felt the eyes on him, heard the screaming echoing off the walls, smelt decaying corpses…_

_Banal’s laugh resounded around him. “Garas.” He said heading to the right. Falon’Din, not wanting to be left alone with people who were more likely to eat him, kept right on his heels. How could he not have noticed? The Creator yelled at himself for missing what should have been obvious. They walked down a narrow corridor, the bones giving way to sturdy stone. Soon they passed through an archway into a large vaulted room._

_Old metal columns held up a second story. Sunlight filtered through so many vines and plants that it gave the room an eerie glow. The middle of the room was sunken, swamp plants grew in abundance. Many of them had never been seen before. They crawled all over the floor, up the columns, around the roof. They broke through stones, filled in the cracks, and gave the room a distinctly old earth smell. The amount of water that trickled down in tiny waterfalls amazed him._

_The walls were painted in various scenes. The statues of the throne room were still around, but were so overgrown that he didn’t really notice them at first. A stone pathway crossed over the miniature swamp leading to one of the four archways._

_“Papae!” came a high pitched and happy voice. It startled Falon’Din. While this dark heart was strangely beautiful, he didn’t think such shrill happiness could exist. But out of seemingly nowhere a white haired woman ran up to Banal and flung her arms around him._

_The man growled his distaste and pried her off him. Her smile made the room that much brighter as Falon’Din watched. She reminded him of a pearl really, perfect and any flaws that could be seen made her that much more beautiful. Then he noticed her eyes were the exact color of Banal’s._

_“Vhena, try that—“_

_She waved it away, “I know I know. If I ever hug you again, you’ll skin me alive and mount it on your throne. You say that every time, Papae.” She giggled._

_Wait one second._ That _was Vhena? His mind struggled to comprehend that as she turned to him._

_“Who’s this?” Her wide eyed innocence touched a nerve in the Creator. How could she exist here?_

_“This is Falon’Din.” Banal snorted as though he were no one important. Falon’Din nearly laughed at how Vhena’s childish eyes got wide with surprise and then turn to shear panic._

_“Papae, do you realize where we are?” She hissed._

_Banal rolled his eyes. “No, Vhena, I don’t. I thought I was in Elgar’nan’s temple. Damn should went right at the Crossroads…”_

_“Not funny!” She shrieked, looking at Falon’Din like he was a demon about to devour her father. “You brought a Creator to your temple!”_

_“I did no such thing. He snuck in. Be glad I brought him to see you. I was going to kill him in the tunnel.”_

_“Yes ma serannas for that.” Falon’Din muttered. Vhena’s doe eyes were filled with worry as she looked at him._

_“Aneth era, uh Falon’Din.” She said shyly. She moved to bow to him when her father shot the iciest glare he’d ever seen._

_“You do not bow to him.” He growled._

_“Well, he is a god…kinda.”_

_“He is not your god.”_

_“Aneth era, Vhena. Good to finally meet you…I suppose.” Falon’Din nodded as he shifted uncomfortably in place. The feeling of eyes watching him ran up his spine. “This is…a strange place.” He noted, looking at the make-shift swamp._

_Vhena gave a giggle. “Papae says this is all that’s left of his original temple.” The Creator glanced at Banal whose back was stiff as he looked at the tangle of plants._

_“Not original, Vhena. I told you the story before.” Banal’s tone wasn’t exactly gentle when he spoke to her. But Falon’Din got the sense that it was softer than what he used with anyone else._

_“Well, have to say I like this far more than the throne room…” Falon’Din rubbed the back of his neck, again feeling he was being undressed, skinned, and eaten with someone’s eyes._

_“I know right?” Vhena flashed another smile. “I told Papae to let the plant grow every where else, but he said that’d allow too much light.” She rolled her eyes while Banal shook his head. Then suddenly she grabbed onto the Creator’s wrist and began dragging him forward. “Don’t worry about the followers, unless Papae tells them they can eat you they won’t.”_

_Falon’Din swallowed loudly. “Perfect.” That made Banal laughed._

_“I am the only thing here you should fear.”_

***** 

“Herald…” drifted through his drowsy mind. Slowly he got enough will to shift positions with a dissatisfied groan. “We should start towards Redcliffe, Herald, if you wish to meet with the mages.” His body was heavy with fatigue and it was finally cold enough for him not to mind the furs he slept on. His breathing was already evening out as his mind drifted away again. 

“Suddenly _now_ he wants to sleep?” Cassandra’s voice pierced his veil. Banal growled throwing an arm over his face. His memories were tugging at him again. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to sleep. It was more like his body didn’t want to awake up. His eyelids were too heavy to open. He felt that white spot flare inside him, but even that couldn’t get him to move. 

“We are supposed to be there in a few hours,” Someone else entered the tent. He must remember to ward the entrance from now on. This was just ridiculous. 

“You are really lucky I sleep with my clothes on…and I’m too tired to blast your shemlen asses out.” Banal mumbled as he forced himself into a sitting position. His hair was a wild tangle of black strands, too long and too heavy to get stuck in odd angles. He groaned as a soldier lifted the flap to report the horses were ready. 

“We need to leave within the hour, Herald.” Cassandra told him as he watched him rub sleep from his eyes. Such a strange mortal thing to do…He stretched like a cat again, bones cracking up his spine. 

“Yes yes, whatever you say Seeker.” He waved her away. “As though they have any other choice than to wait for me.” 

***** 

“So who’s going with you to Redcliffe?” Blackwall asked when Banal finally emerged, braiding his hair absently. Those hands paused to look oddly at the Warden. 

“I wasn’t aware I needed an escort.” Banal muttered before continuing to weave his thigh-long hair into a thick braid. How he could stand to have hair to his knees was beyond any of them. Varric just thought it was to make up for his lack of body hair. 

“You can’t be thinking of going in there alone,” Cassandra piped in, hand resting on her sword. “That may be suicide.” 

“I’m just talking to—“ 

“No it’d be homicide Seeker.” Varric interrupted with a smile to Banal’s glare. “I’ll go with Smiley and make sure no one gets killed.” 

“Indeed, it might be beneficial for me to go as well,” Vivienne said checking her nails. “Perhaps some of the malcontents will see reason.” Her tone said she thought it was doubtful, but she still put on that god-awful hennin. 

“I agree.” Cassandra nodded. “Even if we could convince just some of the rebel mages to ally with us…” 

Banal sighed loudly, tying off his braid. He flung it over his shoulder and watched his little group discuss. They completely ignored him as he started to tie his armor on. 

“You going might cause a fuss, Seeker.” Varric noted. “You know being a super Templar basically. 

“You…may have a point, Varric. But you cannot expect me to leave the Herald defenseless.” 

“Oh Smiley is hardly defenseless, Seeker. He just…doesn’t always block hits.” 

“Well, don’t look at me for goin’ in there with the sparky, all-skittish mages.” Sera mumbled around an apple. Banal briefly thought about how to shove that piece of fruit down her gullet before he continued strapping his leg armor on. 

“Can’t say I’m a fan of going in there, either.” The Bull scratched the back of his head. Just the thought of magic made his head spin. Banal rolled his eyes and headed for Din’an. 

“I will go with the Herald,” Blackwall volunteered. He didn’t like the idea of heading into a nest of mages, but figured this would be best. Wardens were respected as well as feared. Plus he would get to see how their Herald handled things because so far all Ser Blackwall had seen of him was blunt and violent. 

“Then you’d best get ready.” Cassandra noted before looking around for the Herald. “Where did…” 

“He’s got a head start,” Varric chuckled pointing at the elf trotting down the path to the Crossroads on his dead horse. 

“I thought to whole reason why I woke up was to go to Redcliffe not discuss who comes.” Banal called back to them. 

“Well he seems…enthusiastic…” Blackwall muttered as he gathered his sword and shield. Cassandra frowned as the Herald pulled his horse around to watch the camp with that predatory look. 

“That is not the kind of enthusiasm you are thinking, Blackwall…” 

***** 

“What the hell is that?” Varric asked as they came up on a Rift outside the gates. Banal’s power spiked out, the feel of magic coating his skin. But it was different from the other Rifts. Parts were slow, others were fast. The slow bits clogged his pores while the fast ones ripped them apart. Banal wrinkled his nose at the feeling. 

“Whatever it is or isn’t, it isn’t normal.” Blackwall muttered dismounting as the hole began to shimmer. Banal snorted at the understatement. He dismounted Din’an, watching the odd yellow glow come from the Rift. The horse snorted loudly as he took his staff in hand, spinning it easily, ice glowing around the small orb at the tip. 

Banal took a slow breath, feeling his darker self bubble up to the surface. Magic pushed and pulled, bit and tore the air around him. The metallic scent of lightning and Fade caressed his senses, urging his battle instincts to take over. 

As he let the air out, the Rift exploded open and Banal let instincts color the world red around the edges. His heart picked up pace as Vivienne dispelled one of the spawn points. A smile came over him as a terror demon sprouted from the ground. There were four odd circles on the ground, two yellow, two green. But they were of little consequence to Banal. 

A flick of the wrist brought fire underneath a shade. Then he turned to the terror with a crooked smile. Had the thing eyes, it would have been locked in place. Vaguely he realized Blackwall working away at the shades, Varric sprinkling caltrops, and Vivienne casting a barrier over the warrior. But he only had eyes for the spindly demon. 

It split the ground open with its claws. Banal pulled magic around himself, gathering it as the ground began to glow. He fade stepped just as the demon opened itself. Frost grew over it. Banal stopped in one of the yellow circles. Magic clawed at his limbs. Even at his own magic, hanging off it like needy beggars. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, much more force needed to turn around than normal. He felt the demon come closer, but he couldn’t turn around. What kind of fucking magic was this? He growled, trying to shove the tendrils off him. Still they clung, leeching off his darkness. 

“Herald!” Seemed to come at normal speed. He looked at the ground, feeling the weights being tied to the circle. He took a breath, gathering all his magic inside. It wound up and up like a hurricane, seething and ripping away the foreign magic. 

He shoved himself forward. The fade step took longer than normal, but the moment he breeched the circle he shot forward into a wraith. Ectoplasm covered him head to toe. The foul taste stung his tongue as he whirled back around to the Terror fragmenting. Damn party members… He thought bitterly. 

More spawn points appeared, Vivienne did her best to try and dispel two of them. Banal looked at one of the green circles. If the yellow ones slowed things down… 

He stuck a hand through it. Magic poured into his flesh. It grabbed onto him and cut through the air with his movements, eliminating all resistance. With a devilish smirk he stepped into it. His heart picked up pace, his breathing quickened. Even his thoughts seemed to go faster as his power drank the odd magic. 

A few shades and a terror popped out. Banal focused on his staff, shooting balls of ice at dizzying speeds. A shade froze solid, Varric shooting bolts through it to shatter it. Blackwall kept the terror occupied while Banal ducked a shade’s claw. The shade moved at the same speed as Banal. Interesting. 

He ducked and wove, lightning paralyzing the creature before he shoved his staff’s blade through it. Then he turned his fiery gaze to the terror. It was bending backwards, pulling magic down around Blackwall and Vivienne. He gave a wide smirk as it shoved them to the ground. He sucked the power around him. With a breath he used the influx of magic to propel him forward. He jumped. 

His staff tore through the demon’s chest, pinning it to the ground. It screamed and clawed at him. Blood trickled down his face, his arms as he grinned down at it. His mark flashed dangerously, pain shooting up his bone as he pressed it against the demon. Its screams echoed around him as the darkness ate it. 

When it was over, the Rift closed, Banal spat. Ectoplasm was a bitter taste on his tongue. And a rank odor to his nose. His disgusted look made Blackwall laugh while Vivienne offered a kerchief. 

“I want a bath when this over. A marble bath.” He grumbled taking the silk and beginning to peel off the slime. He loved the feel of blood on him, but not ectoplasm. That was just gross. 

“So that wasn’t normal…” Varric commented. 

“Really? I thought all the Rifts were able to bend time…” Banal snarled sarcastically. His nails picked at the hardening stuff in his hair. It was like he was a snake peeling off old skin. 

“You know, Smiley, your white spot is growing…” Banal’s hands stilled over the little white smudge. He glared evilly at the dwarf. Varric smirked devilishly. Keep smiling, dwarf. Banal sneered at him before burning the kerchief. 

“Let’s go before I decide to start a bonfire with Varric in the middle.” 

***** 

Redcliffe was a…quaint little hovel. Fear and pride in equal measure made a unique feel as Banal wandered through the gates. Magic was set deep into the stones here. Images of undead rising, a demon child arose in Banal’s mind as his magic licked the stones. Of course the fishy smell coming from the waters just made anything foul, even fear. 

His nose assaulted once more, Banal’s face was a mask of sheer disgust. You had the mundanes cowering as mages walked among them. You had the mages worrying over the next Templar attack. Then there were the Tranquil. Banal hated them the most. They were nothing. Literally nothing. But they walked and talked. He couldn’t get anything out of them. No fear, no shame, no pride, nothing. Wastes. The living were only good for one thing: feeding him. 

“Quick question.” Banal muttered looking around at the village. “Why did the Hero of Ferelden save this waste of a village?” He growled. 

“I think she was trying to get an audience with Arl Eamon and stumbled upon an undead army and a demon. She was good at that.” Varric chuckled. Blackwall was staring at Banal oddly as he literally glared a woman into fainting. “Easy, Smiley. Don’t make all the women swoon with your brooding just yet.” 

“I’m not brooding. I’m disgusted.” He sneered at a man who was approaching them for help. The man stopped in mid-stepped and then turned away like that was his plan all along. 

“What’s got your smallclothes in a twist now, Smiley?” 

“The mages. They are sniveling little cowards spurred on by an inflated sense of self-worth. They severe their leash but are now lost without it. It’s pathetic.” He hissed, looking down at the dwarf beside him. Several mages turned their heads towards him with varying glares. “They are little more than squawking babies fresh off the teat. And you all expect them to help close the Breach?” 

“Well there’s an image.” Blackwall muttered. 

“Precisely why we must bring them to heel, darling.” Vivienne piped in. “Too many of them are children playing at politics; they lack the proper training to be of any use and not a danger to everyone around them.” 

“I care little about keeping them safe, Madame de Fer. Very little. In fact I don’t care at all about that. They could all go become possessed for all I care. I care about my time. What is the point of talking to worthless shemlen mages?” 

“Some of them are elves too, Smiley.” Varric pointed out. Banal snorted loudly continuing passed a griffon statue. 

“As I told Fiona, the most I have in common with her and others like her is pointed ears and magic. They are not elves. They differ little from shemlen really.” 

Varric sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “So why not go get the Templars then? Curly and them left it up to you.” 

“Because I don’t think the Commander would appreciate me sending the entire fortress into the abyss. The Ambassador even less so.” 

“Why would you send the fortress into the abyss?” Blackwall asked as they started up the stairs to the tavern. 

“Because, Warden, if there is one thing I hate more than cowards, it is pompous shemlen thinking they have power over me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then Banal you are going to hate Alexius...
> 
> Sorry, Banal and Falon'Din weren't cooperating today so this chapter is crappy. Next chapter has Dorian in it I swear.
> 
> I'll try to at least get to Coryphenus before Spring Break ends because then the updates will get later since I start work again and school. 
> 
> Also I cannot write Sera for the life of me. Give me Cole any day! And as a side note, I actually happen to like Vivienne. She's a bad ass woman, so I get upset when people call her a bitch because if she were a guy she'd be called ambitious or a go-getter. Thus, she and Banal have similar personalities, to prove my point.


	10. Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banal finally sits down with Alexius and meets Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so I'm going to be unconventional again. This time I just want people's thoughts on if they'd like Vhena coming into the story more or less. I'm debating on whether or not Vhena's...alive or dead. I mean she's half god-like being. Don't know if I want to jump on the bandwagon of the Inquisitor having a child with their love interest or not.
> 
> This is way in the future, but I like having a plan. And Vhena's reception has been good, and I've fallen in platonic love with her. But I also have that dark and cruel side that writes Banal that says I must kill her permanently. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting and all that!
> 
> Oh and to warn you, there is a lot of in game dialogue and I also threw in some DA:O and DA2 references, consider them Easter eggs.

The tavern’s air was musty, smelt of bad beer and stale vomit, and everywhere there was tension. Lovely place really. People’s heads, if they weren’t too drunk, turned as Banal entered, mouths falling agape. He sneered. 

They were pathetic. They were sulking and drinking their sorrows away rather doing something constructive like blowing up Chantrys. At least that mage made things entertaining in his fit of gloom and despair. These people were just wallowing in their own filth. Actually they have actually been doing that from the stench. 

“Welcome, agents of the Inquisition.” Came a familiar Orlesian accent. It was rather like nails grinding on a stone, just faintly irritating to the ears, but enough for Banal to suddenly wish he was deaf. He looked at the tiny elven woman, unamused and unimpressed by her mages. Could most of them even manage a torch spell? “First Enchanter Vivienne.” She sounded like she’d rather not have to deal with the mage. 

“My dear Fiona, it’s been so long since we’ve last spoke. You look dreadful! Are you sleeping well?” Vivienne’s tone was that of a patronizing mother who obviously didn’t care about the answers. 

“So what brings the Inquisition to Redcliffe?” Fiona turned to Banal, jumping a little like she did when they first met. It was like she wasn’t aware his eye color could exist. Banal furrowed his eyebrows. 

“You don’t…” He suddenly felt that odd magic somewhere again. The Mark flickered underneath his glove. He hissed as pain shot through his veins, fisting his hand tightly. He eyed Fiona suspiciously before relaxing himself. Her face said she didn’t recall ever meeting him before. Which would be impossible for one if they met Banal. He was rather memorable. “So you weren’t in Val Royaeux a few weeks ago?” 

“I haven’t been to Val Royaeux since before the Conclave, why?” 

Banal snorted and looked at Varric. “Then what the hell did we meet in that city?” The dwarf shrugged helplessly. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, an eerie feeling creeping over him. It was like he wasn’t where he should be. It was like being back in the Void again. 

“Whoever…or whatever has brought you here. The situation has changed. The free mages have already…pledged themselves to Tevinter.” 

From how suddenly the room quieted at that, Banal figured that was a big deal. 

“Fiona, dear, your dementia is showing.” Vivienne noted calmly. Banal snorted in agreement. 

“I’m trying to think of a single worse thing you could’ve done, and I’ve got nothing.” Varric muttered shaking his head. 

“Really, durgen’len? You can’t think of one? Chopping off the King’s head?” Banal supplied with an amused smirk. 

“You’d get a swift execution.” 

“Hmm…contract the Blight?” 

“Nope, you’d die eventually or become a Grey Warden.” 

“Make a Chantry explode?” 

“You’d get killed.” 

“Well, apparently Tevinter is the pinnacle of evil then.” Banal snorted. He doubted that. But it explained why there was fear. People didn’t like the Imperium from what he understood, particularly elves. Of course elves didn’t like other elves so there was no surprise in that. 

“You don’t know the half of it, Smiley. Some people there would make you seem like a saint.” 

“I’m offended, Varric. Now I have to strive for new levels of depravity.” Banal put the back of his hand to his forehead, pretending to be faint. So next on the list of places to travel to: Tevinter, just so he could make that pustule fester. “I’m going to assume, I’m wasting my time talking to you.” Banal said flatly to Fiona. She looked like she had been struck before she glared. Such a fiery little glare too. Alas he did not flinch. 

“As one indentured—“ 

“Enslaved. You are a slave, dear. Don’t fool yourself. You just lack a tattoo.” Banal interrupted. She glared but the door opened before she could try to counter. 

“Agents of the Inquisition, please allow me to introduce to Magister Gereon Alexius.” She motioned towards the man in one of the oddest robes Banal had ever seen. Her head was even slightly bowed. 

“Aren’t you such a good little slave?” He mocked before turning to the human. He felt magic rise up around her before being quieted. He got a wicked smirk, watching Alexius with eyes of a snake. 

“Greeting, friends. I apologize for not greeting you earlier.” The man announced in a different accent. 

“I neither care nor am I your friend.” Banal grumbled, though the man didn’t seem to hear him. Banal’s Mark sputtered a bit, making his arm lock in place. He could feel it clawing up his arm, little lines of green lighting up his sleeve. 

“You are the one from the Conclave? The survivor? Interesting.” Suddenly Banal knew what Falon’Din had felt in his temple. He automatically took a defensive posture, looking down his nose at the magister. 

“What I find interesting is your choice of outfit.” Banal mumbled in elven. “I also find it interesting that your people conquered Thedas since when I was last awake you were nothing but little parasites leeching off the Elvhen.” 

Alexius tilted his head to the side. “I’m afraid I don’t quite speak your tongue, friend.” 

Banal growled in his throat. “Skip the pleasantries, shemlen. I need mages, and I needed them weeks ago.” He walked passed the man with the air of a king. Which in his own mind he was. He was the Herald, anyone told him no, he could smite them. Well he could do that without being called the Herald… 

“Right to the point! I understand.” For the love of disease and decay, was this another Varric? Banal glared as he sat in a chair and threw his feet on the table. He had the air of a sultry assassin that knew he could kill you with a flick of the wrist. Alexius’s face turned to disapproval before he sat down himself. 

“Felix, would you send for a scribe?” The young man dressed in yellow stepped forward. “Ah, my apologies. My son Felix, friends.” Banal looked at him with disdain before the man disappeared. Banal rolled his eyes to the magister. “I am not surprised that you’re here. Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed…” 

Banal rolled his eyes. “Magister are you implying that you have control of this?” Banal scoffed. “If so you are horribly delusional.” 

“Smiley, we’re here to get help with the Breach not piss off potential allies…” Varric warned as he came up to stand beside him. “For once use tact.” 

Banal snorted loudly. “Ir abelas; I detest shemlen. It makes me sick to think how my people have been reduced to mere street trash under the shemlen rule.” He spoke in rapid elven before returning to trade tongue. “My apologies, magister. My tongue is sometimes quicker than my conscious. I would so very pleased if we could come to an agreement.” His smile was fake, but still unsettling. 

He felt Alexius’s heart. It was dark and dank. Fear creeped at its edges. Despair swam in the middle. But this mage was quite used to subtle manipulations and suddenly there were barriers around him, blocking him from Banal’s dark art. 

“There would have to be—“ The door reopened, causing him to look. Felix staggered a little. Varric nudged the Herald in the ribs, motioning for him to get up. With a sigh, he stood only to have the shemlen trip into him. He felt paper being pressed into his hand as he righted the human. He glared at the boy. 

“Please forgive my clumsiness, my lord.” 

“Are you alright?” Suddenly the fear was palpable, written across Alexius’s face. Despair was etched in the wrinkles. Interesting. Well he just found his enemy’s weakness. Good to know something as simple as torturing his child could be used to get Banal’s way. 

“I’m fine, Father.” Felix didn’t look fine. If Banal’s extra senses were to be believed, he was a far cry from fine. Not only was his skin a sickly pallor, but dark circles were surrounding his eyes. Banal could sense a disease inside him, corrupting him. Oh ho ho, what sort of disease is it that could corrupt a soul? 

Vaguely Banal was aware of Alexius guiding Felix away. “I shall send word to the Inquisition and we shall conclude this transaction at a later date.” The smile he gave…Banal’s first thought of maggots, but then that triggered memories of Val Royaeux, and he suddenly just wanted to burn Redcliffe. 

“Well that…could have gone better…” Varric mumbled. 

“I didn’t kill anyone. I think I deserve credit for that.” Banal rolled his eyes. He looked at the paper in his hand with disdain. “And for once I wish people would use smoke signals to communicate with me…less touching and I can at least read it.” 

“Where’d you get that?” Blackwall asked. He was remarkably silent during the transaction, though he did wear a troubled expression. “More importantly, what does it say?” “Felix. And how should I know? I don’t read shem…I’m sorry trade tongue.” Banal handed it to him with a look of nothing. He was done. Just so done. This entire village should burn, that’ll solve everything. No weird time Rifts, no pompous magisters, no Fiona, it was a win-win situation. Save for the fact that he’d have to go to the Templars, and he’d rather rip the demon’s face off and wear it as an Orlesian mask than conduct negotiations. 

“Come to the Chantry; you are in danger…” Blackwall read aloud. “Well, this person should get a medal for the most obvious note ever written.” 

Banal snorted. “Are you sure it’s not some shemlen priest trying to get me to repent before I damn my soul forever?” 

“Before? You mean you haven’t done that already?” The bearded man quipped. Banal blinked at him. He seemed cautious as he returned the stare. 

“Suddenly, I like you more, Warden…stop it.” 

***** 

With a loud groan, the doors of the Chantry swung open. Banal blinked, his marked hand sparking brilliantly. Black started to bleed out of it as the muscles twitched from the influx of magic there. Inside was a Rift (of course there was) and a man he had never met before. He hit two shades with his staff before turning to the opening door. Blackwall slammed it shut so no demon could exit. 

“Good you’re finally here. Now help me close this, would you?” The man said in a tone most reserved for asking for help opening a jar. Banal frowned. 

He pulled his staff from his back. “I don’t take orders from shemlen.” He hissed right as he sped forward. The man felt magic speed passed him just before Banal rematerialized and shoved his staff through a shade. The elf had the most vicious snarl on his face. The whites of his eyes turned black as he started a dance of death. 

“Let Smiley have this one. He needs to let off steam.” Varric grabbed his companions’ arms as they readied themselves for a battle. Banal smiled. He would have to remember to save the dwarf for last. Or first. 

Banal spun his staff around, creating lightning before slamming it down so it could arch away. In his mind, music was playing. He ducked and slashed, parried and burnt to the sounds. Demon blood began to coat him in a hot, gory mess. But it spurred him on, that feel of slick blood sliding around his fingers, down his neck. A laugh bubbled from his chest as he cracked the Rift wide open. The terror demon swayed in its spot. 

Banal’s twisted grin spread as he focused all his magic into his glowing hand. He hardened his claws as he pulled it back to strike. His fingers gouged into the wood-like skin of its chest. He shoved his hand upwards, feeling that spindly pulse quicken as his claws constricted it. His mark flared, pain biting pleasure as light began to dissolve areas of the demon away. Its screams faded as it returned to the Rift. 

A flick of the wrist closed the hole, Banal’s world returning to normal. 

“I do hope you remember to bathe tonight, darling.” Vivienne commented absently as she sneered at the demon’s blood. 

“Fascinating, how does that work exactly?” The mystery man looked at the Mark with its tendrils of green tracing its way up Banal’s arm. Even through clothing it was visible. Banal kept a neutral face as he studied the man in turn. Golden skin, dark hair that was obviously doted upon, a moustache that curled at the ends. Banal furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Who are you, shemlen?” He muttered. The man seemed to snap out of whatever discussion he was having with himself and bowed slightly. 

“Ah getting ahead of myself. I am Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.” He said casually as though would mean something to Banal. 

“You let one Tevinter in and suddenly they are creeping out of the walls like roaches.” Vivienne noted. Banal wiped absently at the blood around his mouth. That was an image to behold. He just imagined tiny little cockroaches crawling about with those odd spikey robes on them, yelling ‘Bow to me! Tevinter shall rule all!’ 

“Now now, I’m far more handsome than a cockroach.” This Dorian commented before turning to Banal. 

“I suggest you start talking quickly. What little patience I have has been spent on the Tranquil in the Gull.” 

“Well you are a bundle of rainbows…” Dorian muttered watching the elf lean against the wall. He got the vague impression that he was being properly butchered in the elf’s mind. Along with thoughts of how dashing he’d look with an apple in his mouth probably. “Alexius was once my mentor, so my help should be invaluable as you can imagine.” 

“There is no medal for wasting my time, shemlen. I’d like to get this viscous fluid off my body soon.” Banal commented, feeling a slight burn come from the blood now that his adrenaline was spent. 

“What? No medal? Then why am I here?” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Let’s start with how Alexius managed to claim the mage rebellion right out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. Alexius distorted time itself.” 

Banal snorted. “So, that shemlen magister made it so he could come here right after the Divine’s death? Well he recovered some points for sheer determination.” 

“You have a points system, Smiley?” Varric cocked an eyebrow. 

“Of course. How else would I determine who I want to kill and how?” 

“I’m going to regret asking this, but what?” Blackwall asked. Banal rolled his eyes before removing his glove to rub the now sore Mark. 

“Everyone starts out with negative one thousand. Every stupid comment, a negative two hundred points are added. After awhile, every breath you take without blood adds negative fifty. Any smart comment gains you positive fifty. Simple.” 

Was he describing how he calculated how much he liked a person or describing a point system to some elven game? Dorian and Blackwall both wondered. 

“And Alexius’ point total is…?” Blackwall asked as though he really didn’t want to know. Which he didn’t. At what point did just breathing start taking points away? Moreover, he was afraid to know where he lay in that system. 

“I don’t know, what comes after the thousands in shemlen?” 

“So you won’t be sending him a Wintersend gift any time soon?” Dorian quipped. 

“Not unless it was a severed head" 

"Only if you wrap it in silver ribbon, darling." Vivienne added as though he were talking about sending a scented candle. 

"This is hardly the point.” 

“Indeed.” Vivienne scoffed. “Time magic? Don’t make me laugh. Many have tried over the ages, but not one had succeeded.” 

“I know what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic.” Dorian glared at her, venom in his tone. Like he was trying to convince a parent that something existed. Banal snorted loudly, drawing the human’s attention once more. 

“I’m going to need more than: It is time magic; go with it.” 

Dorian sighed to himself. Maker’s breath did the Herald have to be so thick headed. “You saw the Rift here, how it twisted time around itself? Sped somethings up and slowed others down?” 

“Please do hurry this up, I’ve lost all feeling in my arm.” Banal rolled his eyes. He truly couldn’t feel his left arm and from the green veins running up his skin, that wasn’t a good sign. 

“The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable and it’s unraveling the world.” 

“So he’s bat shit crazy, good to know.” Varric grumbled, patting Bianca lovingly. Banal found it odd how the dwarf had a relationship with the piece of machinery. Though he could see the appeal of not having a physical person. No unwanted children for one. And no need to care about the person’s needs for another. 

“What I don’t understand is why he is doing it. Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?” Dorian stroked his chin in thought. For a moment Banal wondered if shemlen were some intelligent manner of beasts from the amount of hair they seemed to grow on their bodies. 

“He didn’t do it for them.” Felix’s voice echoed through the Chantry as he joined Banal and Dorian near the altar. “My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists who call themselves the Venatori.” 

“With a name like that, there’s no doubt they could conquer the world.” Banal rolled his eyes. 

“Whatever my father has done, it was to get to you.” Felix pointed at the elf, tired and somewhat worried his father would come looking for him. Banal’s eyebrows went up. 

“Oh my, all this for me?” He chuckled. “Such a sweet little shemlen. And here I didn’t get Alexius anything…” The shemlen got points for causing destruction and chaos all in the name of getting to Banal. He could almost kiss the magister. Well kiss him with lips laced with poison that would slowly eat away at his brain… 

“Send him a fruit basket, everyone loves those.” Dorian smirked. The Herald was apparently a wicked elf, one who couldn’t be daunted by anything or anyone. 

"Minus the head?" Banal cocked an eyebrow. Dorian chuckled. 

"Minus the head." What a strange little elf, he thought. “Well knowing you are their target is the first step in turning this to advantage.” Dorian started, a plan formulating in his mind. Of course it mostly depended on the Inquisition’s plans, but still he visualized how best to go about this. He had to have perfect timing with everything. Oh Maker’s breath he was becoming his mother… “I can’t stay in Redcliffe; Alexius doesn’t know I’m here and I’d like to keep it that way. But if you go after him, I want to be there.” He began heading for the back entrance. 

“We shall see shemlen. I make no promises.” Banal grumbled before shoving off the wall. He needed a bath and more importantly, he needed Solas to look at his arm. Without waiting to listen more he waltzed out of the Chantry. He dared anyone to stop him ask why he was sticky with demon’s blood. 

***** 

“Seeker, if I may have a moment of your time.” Vivienne began. Cassandra paused in tending to her armor to look up. The enchantress didn’t seem frazzled or upset, which didn’t come as a surprise. She was a master of manipulation after all. 

“Of course. What can I do for you, Lady Vivienne?” The Seeker tried to keep her voice from sounding demanding. The mage sat opposite her, looking about at the seating arrangement with disapproval. 

“I was wondering if you’ve noticed anything amiss with our dear Herald.” 

Cassandra’s expression turned guarded. Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I suppose it depends on what specifically you are talking about.” Had she noticed anything odd? Of course. The elf was nothing but odd. She glanced at him allowing Solas to study the Mark. The pale green veins were softly glowing against the night’s gloom. 

“With his powers. You have known him far longer than I, so is it normal for black to come from his mark? Or his magic to be so dark?” Vivienne was entirely serious, like she was discussing an apprentice. That’s how she was seeing it. Banal may have been the Herald, but he was an apostate with potentially no proper training to speak of. She couldn’t help but fear he was possessed after seeing him dismantle demons. 

“Ah…” Cassandra nodded solemnly. “Solas has already brought that to my attention. He believes that the Mark might be amplifying Banal’s magic and his emotions, which in turn shape the Mark.” Vivienne nodded in understanding. 

“And has the idea that he is possessed crossed your mind, dear?” 

“It has.” Cassandra’s voice was her usual commander voice, the one she used when talking to recruits who came to her with questions about the Herald. “Solas assures me that the magic coming from the Mark is solely Banal’s.” 

Vivienne frowned deeply at that. “Seeker, they are both apostates. Whose to say Solas is not hiding something? He makes it no secret he spends much of his time with spirits. Perhaps he thinks the demon is a spirit inside Banal?” She had a point. “What needs to be done is proper tests, darling. If we are entrusting our lives, our world, to this elf, we need to be sure that is _just_ him.” 

Cassandra thought over it. She knew what Madame de Fer said was true. Could they solely trust Solas? She believed he would not withhold information such as the Herald being possessed, that she didn’t agree with. But Banal…she had less faith in the Herald. She wasn’t sure he ever told the truth. And no one could be that hateful, could they? That callous? 

“I understand, Lady Vivienne…I will discuss it with Leliana and Commander Cullen when we get back to Haven.” Cassandra’s shoulders suddenly felt heavy as she looked to find Solas bandaging the Mark again. She did not want to think the worst, but could Banal be a demon? Or was he like the mage Anders? Maker protect them if that were the case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought I could get to Corphenyus by Monday...Never before have I been so wrong in my life...Yeah I'll get passed the hushed whispers quest but that's about it. So unless I get super sick between now and Monday (which means I won't have to work) Haven's not going to be attacked for a bit since I need sleep.
> 
> But I want to assure you I'll continue writing it, just mostly on the weekends.
> 
> I might look into commissioning someone to draw a Banal tarot card...so be on guard...
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed Dorian finally. I'm still tweaking how he and Banal actually end up together (like seriously they are like two negative magnets...)


	11. The Elder One Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banal gets purged and uncovers the memory of the Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for commenting with your opinions! I really do enjoy hearing from you all. Not just about things I ask about, but about what you hope will happen and your thoughts on Banal's story.
> 
> Ma serannas, lethallin!

“You can’t be serious.” Cullen scoffed. He shook his head at Cassandra and Leliana. There was just no possible way. No way they could even think that the Herald was possessed. But Vivienne sighed solemnly as she crossed her arms and stared at him like he was some unruly apprentice of hers. 

“Commander, even you must realize we cannot continue—“ 

“He’s the Herald, Seeker.” Cullen interrupted. He didn’t want to think about the possibility. He knew if Banal was just another mage, he wouldn’t be hesitant about testing him. He had witnessed too many mages hiding demons in them to let another do so. But if he _were_ an abomination… The Commander sighed loudly. He rested his hand on his sword for comfort. 

“Precisely why we must be sure _now_ , Commander.” Vivienne said in her most comforting voice. 

“And what if he is an abomination? Are we to kill him?” Cullen gripped the bridge of his nose, feeling another headache beginning. 

Everyone fell silent at that. Would they kill the one man that could save them? Cassandra sighed. “We wait until after he’s closed the Breach, and pray it is not too late.” 

“Pray? Darling if he is a demon, closing the Breach may just give him more power. He could be manipulating our very minds in the meantime.” Vivienne scoffed. Then something came to Leliana’s mind. 

“There may be a way to cure him without killing him…” She said quietly. “Connor, Arl Eamon’s son, had made a deal with a demon. If Banal had willingly let the demon inside him, we just have to send someone into the Fade to kill it.” 

“Willingly? My dear, no sane mage would let a demon into them willingly. And if he had, do you truly want him leading the army of the faithful? Who’s to say he won’t just invite another in? Or create an army of abominations?” 

“There is Tranquility…” Cullen noted. It didn’t sit well in his stomach but it was an option. 

“No, we cannot risk making him defenseless on the off chance he _might_ be possessed.” Josephine piped in. They were using her office as Banal rarely frequented there. And he always knocked on the door prior to entering. Where the War Room was his so he would just stroll in like a lazy cat. 

“Then what should we do? Make him take the Harrowing?” Cullen’s tone was frustrated. How could they even consider any of these options? Sure the elf wasn’t the most sociable or anything seemingly heroic, but he was helping them. He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. 

“A Harrowing wouldn’t do much good if he is already possessed.” Cassandra mumbled. 

“What then?” 

“We test him for possession as we would any other mage.” 

“It will be no easy feat, Seeker.” Vivienne noted with a sigh of relief. 

***** 

Cullen and the Templar Lieutenant gave each other a dreadful look before walking towards the dark haired elf. He was sparring with The Chargers, easily kicking all of their asses. Cullen watched for a moment. He observed how easily the man switched sword hands, or handled the practice sword in different ways. It was almost like a dance, but the steps were different from the training he’d had as a Templar. This seemed ancient and perfected to deadly accuracy. 

“Herald?” He called when he got close enough. The elf flipped Krem onto his back easily before pulling Skinner from the shadows and knocking the wind out of her. With little effort he twisted the dagger from her and flipped her as well. Banal laughed loudly as Bull groaned. 

“Yes, Commander?” The elf chorused. His dark hair was turning brown from the dust, sweat allowing the dirt to tan his unusual pale skin. But he was breathing easily as though this was just a mild hike. 

Cullen motioned the man towards him. He winced when the elf threw the sword down, it sticking up from the frozen earth far too close to Skinner’s face than necessary. The Bull started his usual lecture on how Banal was a mage and he still managed to beat them. Most likely the Chargers were going to get the training session of a lifetime…again. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. He knew they were a good group of skilled fighters; they were invaluable when it came to battles, both mock and real. But the Commander also knew from watching Banal tear his way through four recruits easily, they all had a long way to go to match the elf. 

“You aren’t busy are you, Herald?” 

Banal gave him a questioning look that made his skin crawl. It was suddenly like he was fifteen again and worried about the Knight Commander noticing the scuff on his boots… “I’m still in Haven, yes? So apparently no one’s blowing up Conclaves yet.” Cullen sighed at the bad joke. 

“Come with me, then. Please.” The elf eyed him suspiciously but still followed. Banal got the feeling he wasn’t going to like where he was going. The Commander was too stiff, despair practically oozed out of his fluffy shoulders. Not that Banal was complaining or saying that the human wasn’t usually uptight. But it still seemed ominous and the last time Banal had felt that he ended up being killed. 

***** 

He was lead back down to the dungeons. Tension was in the air along with a distinct lyrium smell. The hair on the back of his neck raised. He took the stance of someone who expected to be attacked from all sides as the Commander closed a gate behind them. Banal glared at the people now locked inside with him: Cassandra, Vivienne, a few Templars, Leliana, and Cullen. 

He moved to the opposite wall, keeping everyone in his line of sight. He felt the walls closing in from the amount of hatred beginning to fill his body. Already his breaths were deeper, to combat the thundering beat of his heart. Most of the people wore grave faces. One of the Templars moved ever so slightly but without a thought Banal moved to keep him in the exact spot in his vision. 

“So is the part where you kill me and cut off my hand?” He kept his voice even and sultry as though he had been expecting this. “Because I’m afraid I won’t make it easy for you.” 

“It’s nothing like that, I assure you.” Leliana replied, face a perfect mask of Orlesian neutrality. Banal frowned. 

“I wouldn’t trust your word even if you had information that could save my life, Spy.” He hissed. His eyes kept flickering back to the Templars who were waiting for Cullen to give some signal no doubt. The whole room was uneasy. It was making it hard for Banal to breathe. 

His magic pressed and pulled to be let out. It constricted around his organs. Already he could feel little cracks appearing in his makeshift walls. The screws in the cell behind him gave little quivers. Soon they would all feel the gloom settle on them, sucking them in towards Banal. 

He clenched his jaw and tried to shove it away. Too many Templars, and he wasn’t sure what they wanted yet. 

“This is just a precautionary measure, my dear.” Vivienne’s tone made Banal’s skin crawl. No being had ever talked to him like he was some small child incapable of understanding what was happening. Besides precautionary measure for what? 

“For what exactly?” He growled. The bars started to press against his back. He could feel the Templars, a void that sucked away magic. These were not lyrium-depraved zealots. They were real Templars, which Banal had never actually encountered before. The look on his face reminded the group that they might well be cornering a dragon inside its lair. 

“To ensure your safety as well as the Inquisition’s.” Cassandra stated bluntly as she nodded to what seemed to be the senior Templar. The man with red hair nodded before coming closer to Banal. His heart started going quicker, eyes flickering to the man’s hands. 

“Touch me and I’ll burn you alive.” Banal hissed. 

“The walls are warded, Herald. Your spells have no affect here.” 

Just to test that, he tried summoning a ball of flame to his hand. His magic was there. It flared, but as it tried to leak out into the world suddenly there was a force pressing in on him from all sides. His darkness even struggled against. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe; every pore in his body was blocked and he felt like a bottle of champagne about to burst as the man came closer. 

Trying to think quickly, Banal began circling the Templar. One step forward, he’d take one step back. Unfortunately that made it where he couldn’t keep an eye on everyone. Still he moved about the room, refusing to be cornered by anyone. His mind was furiously trying to break the wards, hitting them, cracking them, anything to breathe again. 

“Enough of this!” Cassandra growled. Arms pinned Banal in place. He of course struck out with every ounce of strength he had, which including twisting and turning in ways the shemlen weren’t able to do. Even so, their grips wouldn’t let go. Then a hand pushed his head back by the forehead. 

“Ar tu na’lin emma mi,” He hissed at him. Red was bleeding into his vision again as he glared daggers at the human before him. That vacuum inside the Templar spread through his arm and began to leech at Banal. His magic strained and pulled. It struck back, but the wards were like chains around it. The vacuum was searching for something… 

Then the light started. It seared its way through his veins. He felt it seek out the dark parts of him and try to burn them away. His magic shivered and convulsed, pushing hard against his body. It was like something was sticking a claw through his veins and ripping everything out of him. 

Banal bit his scream back, shaking horribly. He felt pain flash in every area of his body as this light moved through him. Then, suddenly it hit his heart. He felt the two magics strike at each other, one trying to smother the other. The light wrapped around it, choking it. 

He couldn’t take it. He felt bruises coming to life under his skin. He felt too much light. He felt pain. 

He couldn’t handle it. Whatever the hell it was, it was mortal. It had no right to cause him pain. It had no right to invade his body, to chase his darkness away. He had destroyed thousands of souls, consumed thousands more. Their pain, their suffering fed his power. His power would always be greater than some up jumped drug addicts and their paranoid supervisors. 

With those thoughts, and ones of his first Betrayal flowing in his mind, Banal straightened against his constraints. Every bone seemed like it was breaking as the light tore at him. But he gritted his teeth and glared. 

His magic condensed into a solid ball inside his heart underneath that light. He clenched it so tight that it shrank and shrank until it could no more. Then it exploded out. The darkness eviscerated the light, tearing through his entire being with such force the wards shattered. He had no control over it as it left his body. 

All he felt was his body being thrown back, his head cracking against metal. And then darkness overtaking his mind. 

***** 

_The grand doors to the Inner Sanctum opened and there upon the raised platform sat **them**. The beings that wrought death and destruction, beings that brought pestilence and nightmares, war and jealousy, fear and hate. Each had their own throne, the one in the middle the largest and most decorated. They became smaller and less adorned as they got further from that one. _

_The Throne of the Elder One. The one occupied by the most detestable, vile Elvhen imaginable. A smile that put fear into the hearts of dragons crept over his pale features as they entered his halls. His black hair was bound by a long braid, a crown made from the maxilla bone of his first born adorned his head. The leather strap that held the bone to his head had claws, talons and fangs all around, a macabre imitation of true crowns._

_“Andran’banalhan, Elgar’nan, Mythal.” His voice was smug as he looked down at them. His brothers and sisters gave chuckles as the two “Creators” entered. “To what do we owe this displeasure?” The Elder sat back on his throne and folded his jeweled hands together. Well they weren’t so much as jeweled as armored. His golden clawed gauntlets mimicked the ligaments of the hands before the left one traveled up like dragon scales to his shoulder armor. The opposite turned to various hand jewelry._

_“You know why we’ve come,” Elgar’nan bellowed. It took everything inside him not to bound right up to the elf and cleave open his skull. The Eldest of the Sun was the exact opposite of him. Pale gold hair that was shaved, tan skin from days he worked in the sun, and wore little jewelry. Even his eyes were a striking difference, a deep aquamarine surrounded by rings of purple._

_The Elder snorted and brushed invisible dust from the raven feather pauldron over his left shoulder. “Ah yes, to surrender?” the man mocked. Elgar’nan gritted his teeth, trying to swallow the bile that arose from hearing him talk. “Or rather to force me to surrender?”_

_“Your reign is done,” Mythal’s voice was crisp and clear as she sliced through the air with her hand. The black haired man raised a hand, a barrier stopping the magic blast before it ever hit. “You lose followers every day. You’ve lost this war.”_

_The amused smirk on his lips never faltered as he contemplated them. Their children, still quite young to be considered gods, shifted uncomfortably behind them. “I’ve lost nothing.” He purred. Finally he stood. The Veilfire torches made his Stormheart chainmail peeking out from his robes glint like stormy seas._

_“Oh really?” Elgar’nan’s voice was accompanied with sounds of choking. The Elder’s smile faltered as he looked to his siblings, all holding their throats as blood choked them. Those bright dragon eyes turned to the Creator with sheer hatred as he too began to cough up his own blood. But rather than fall to the ground he stood defiant, nostrils flared._

_Darkness pooled around him before he fade stepped forward. Elgar’nan was ready for him. He slid his axe out of its holder and blocked the dagger. Every parry made by the Elder, the Eldest of the Sun countered, the former’s attacks getting weaker as the poison strangled his heart._

_Finally Elgar’nan’s axe slit the unarmored throat of his opponent. The man staggered a few steps away before collapsing. The life began to ebb from his eyes as Elgar’nan stood over him._

_“Good job, Fen’Harel.” He smiled. The last the Elder saw was a shadowed figure he had known as brother once come to the Creator’s side with a pleased smile._

_They had been betrayed._

***** 

Banal awoke with a fright. His heart was beating a million miles an hour as he sat up. His body ached all over and his head throbbed but he still began to move. Till a hand gripped him by the shoulder. His eyes flashed to Solas. 

“Easy, da’len. You should not be moving so soon.” He muttered. Banal snorted in response. Sweat was soaking his hair as the memory flashed over and over in his mind. He remembered that day. He couldn’t remember the Betrayer’s face, but he remembered the hatred he felt. That hatred started to kindle the darkness around his heart once more. His power surged, the fires in the hearth blazed bright blue as they climbed up the chimney. Solas winced from the magic. 

“Whoa, take it easy, Smiley. Whatever nightmare you were having it can’t get you here.” Varric’s voice drew Banal’s attention to the door. With a frown he eyed the two suspiciously. Were they apart of the test assault? He pushed Solas away and stood. His body screamed in protest, parts still very raw from the cleansing. The mirror opposite the bed showed him the healing burns on his jaw. And the white spot. It had grown. Now it was even with his eyes. 

“I’m going to kill the Seeker, then the Spy, then Vivienne, and skip rope with Cullen’s entrails while I do so.” Banal growled. Had Solas and Varric not both grabbed hold of the pissed off mage, he would’ve done so right then. 

“Settle down, Banal.” Solas muttered as he tried not to take a punch to the face. Banal was elbowing, kicking, biting, clawing as he tried to escape. “Last thing any of us need is a massacre on our hands.” Solas didn’t want to do this but he was left no choice. He slammed the heel of his hand into the soft stitches in the back of the Herald’s skull. Banal let out a sharp cry which turned into a snarl. He put a hand over the epicenter of the pain. His body shook as he tried to take stock of himself. Gently Solas managed to get him to sit on the bed again. His eyes were quite troubled and far off. 

“Look, I can understand why you’re pissed, Smiley. I would be too if I was spell purged. Still their hearts were in the right place.” Varric tried his best not to make it sound like a good thing. Because having your Herald out cold (again) for three days wasn’t a good thing. It was a bad thing for everything. Morale, business, gossip, and what have. It was made worse by the fact that the Inquisition had done it to him. 

“They should’ve gone about it differently, Varric.” Solas glared, not at the dwarf but in general. He had told Cassandra numerous times, Banal was not possessed. And yet because both of them were apostates and Vivienne a Circle mage, her word was believed over his. And look what happened. There were numerous burns on his body, primarily around the Mark, bruises made his skin look molted, and he had fifteen stitches in the back of his skull. Not to mention they had to light a funeral pyre for the Templar. 

“I agree, Chuckles. There wasn’t need for the skulking and the purging. I doubt Smiley would let any demon possess him.” 

Banal snorted, rolling his shoulders. His darkness was still inside him, damaged but ready to kill things. 

Solas began looking at the stitches buried beneath all the hair. He was surprised to find out that only the hair on top of his head was long, the sides and back were shorn short. Short enough not to be braided, but long enough to be tugged on and pose a problem when stitching. Solas had learned not to heal the Herald as his magic often fought back. 

“Well, I didn’t tear any of the stitches, but you should still start drinking health potions.” 

“It grew.” Banal said with such a disappointed and frustrated tone. It made him sound like a sulking child. Both the bald elf and the dwarf laughed, noting how he was frowning at his reflection. 

“Yeah, the Seeker said it grew right before her eyes while you were unconscious.” Varric chuckled. 

“It’s hideous.” 

“It’s not that bad, Smiley. Just think of it as a quirk of getting older.” Banal frowned at that. He gave the dwarf a glare. 

“I don’t grow old, durgen’len.” Then he huffed and stood again. “It is not a sign of age.” It was something far worse...Though his body wanted to sleep and never return, his mind replayed his memory over and over again. So much so he could see it playing out on the walls of his little hut. The urge to kill came back full force every time he saw that shadow smiling. 

“Off to destroy the world, Smiley?” Varric asked as Banal headed for the door. 

“I’m off to kill a magister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry that I didn't get to the Hushed Whispers quest. It's started, but right now it's so fragmented that I'm not comfortable publishing that part yet. But I promised to have one more update before Monday. So I give you part one! I may tweak it a bit when I'm not so rushed to go to sleep or worried over the exam I have tomorrow so check back.
> 
> Also give me a couple of days and I'll post a link to Banal's concept art (for his clothes at least) because there's no way for me to describe his everything in the story without getting super technical and over explaining! Just don't get your hopes up, I'm an okay writer, I'm a terrible artist! :)
> 
> Alrighty thank you so much for reading! Promise I'll get part two done soon!


	12. The Elder One Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banal's still pissed about being purged, bonds with Dorian over Din'an, and finally gets the mages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there! College just gets in the way of life, ya know?
> 
> Also pictures of Banal's robes and what have you are now up here: http://nolifequeen1663.deviantart.com/gallery/53811703/Dragon-Age-Story-Concepts
> 
> I drew them, so they aren't very good. And I respectfully ask for no one to use them or save them. Not that they are that good, but still they are under a Creative Commons license of Non-commercial and Non-derivative and I've not allowed for them to be downloaded, which means I don't want them saved on people's computers. Please and Thank you.
> 
> Hopefully I can commission this really great artist to draw him and Dorian for me...or him and Vhena...which would you rather? Might also ask her to draw Falon'dir from Of Peacocks and Wolves...
> 
> Also I want to say that I will be doing a sort of spinoff of Banal. It'll have parts that don't make it into either of my stories, and I was thinking of asking you all that if you think of a situation you'd like to see how Banal would react to (so like a prompt? I guess?) I might just write it in spare time and post it...Just saying...

“If you go in there, you’ll die and we’ll lose the only means we have of closing the Rifts.” Cullen glared. “I won’t allow it.” Banal snorted loudly at him. 

“Now you are concerned about my safety?” He snarled. His body quivered. His magic was still fractured, slowly healing itself. His Mark was bandaged tightly from all the burns. Anytime he moved his jaw it seemed like he broke open more blisters or scabs. Needless to say, Banal was plotting violent deaths during this entire conversation. 

So far he had imagined splitting Cassandra’s skull open with a one of the pieces Cullen used to mark areas on the map and gouging out her brain Josephine’s quill. For the little shemlen spy, he decided to cut out her tongue, make her eat it, and then cut off all her appendages one by one. Cullen was bit trickier; Banal finally decided to dig out all his veins like what happened to him. And Vivienne, he thought about purging her, over and over again, until she was nothing but a whimpering pulp, but that might make her Tranquil and he didn’t want that. That was too easy. 

The three of them sighed loudly, noting the hatred oozing from the elf. He stood closer to Josephine, keeping the three traitors in his line of sight. “We’ve explained this. It was—“ Cassandra tried to keep tension from her voice and failed. 

“I don’t care what it was for, Shemlen. The fact remains you butchered my magic, and I want you dead in the most imaginative ways.” Banal hissed. 

“Isn’t killing them a…bit extreme?” Josephine tried to be diplomatic. Banal turned his heated glare to her, practically roasting her in her clothes. She winced, holding that clipboard to her chest like a shield. 

“Let me claw out your veins and see how you would feel.” 

Leliana sighed to herself. “Regardless of what happened, and personal feelings—“ 

“Regardless?” Banal’s voice seemed to boom in the small space. “Regardless? So good to know that you find **roasting** the one man you need to close the damn hole in the Veil so easily rectified.” 

“We need to agree on allies to close the Breach before we start bickering about if what we did was right or not.” 

“I’m getting the mages. I’d rather impale all the Templars after your little stunt.” Banal crossed his arms and glared. “I don’t care if you _won’t_ allow it, Shem” He hissed when Cullen began to open his mouth. “I’m going to Redcliffe, whether or not I have back up from your ‘soldiers’.” Banal’s glare stopped any argument. They were all now fully aware that however dragon-like they thought his behavior was before, it was ten times worse. 

The advisors looked at each other. Josephine had that look of ‘see what you did?’ as she glared at them. Cullen looked like he was about to challenge Banal to a duel (as though he could win) while Cassandra wanted to strangle the elf. 

“There is a secret passageway for the family. It is too small to send soldiers through but we could send our agents.” Leliana proposed, knowing they couldn’t change the mage’s mind. 

“They’d be spotted before being of any use.” Cullen sighed. There was another headache building in his skull. 

“Luckily you’ll have help.” Came a new voice as the door was thrown open. In walked that mage from Redcliffe, Dorian. Banal sneered at him coming beside him. “You are just so socialb—What happened to your face?” Dorian blinked noting what looked to be lyrium burns. 

“A Templar happened. He’s dead now.” Banal said in a clipped tone. “Were you eavesdropping?” 

“Me? Perish the thought!” Dorian dismissed the accusation with his hand. “Now in order for your people to get inside, you’re going to need my help.” 

“Am I now?” Banal cocked an eyebrow. “Who said I was going into the castle? I could just make it explode.” 

“Redcliffe Castle has survived numerous assaults, including darkspawn attacks, Herald.” Cullen reminded him. 

Banal gave him that unsettling grin, made even worse from the burn. “Please, it is a shemlen construct; it can’t be that sturdy.” 

“Regardless, I thought you wanted help with the Breach, not to just kill everyone?” Dorian eyed Banal oddly. He wasn’t sure about the elf. There seemed to be an odd barrier about him, hovering just above the skin. Then he felt magic touch him, not unlike what his father attempted to do. Dorian immediately steeled his mind as though protecting himself from possession. The elf’s smirk got bigger. 

“Not all the mages are in the castle. Kill the leader, take over said leadership, close the Breach, kill three fourths of my advising circle, and then ride into the sunset to plot world domination.” Banal shrugged, “It’s a work in progress.” 

“Ignore him.” Cassandra muttered with a glare that Banal returned full force. 

“I don’t think I could if I tried.” Dorian quipped. Which was true. The elf stood out, even without those especially long pointed ears that seemed to have a great many piercing holes...or what looked to be two holes in his lower lip (did he had lip piercings at one time? Rebellious youth perhaps?)…Or the strange white smudge in his hair. Banal snorted with a roll of his eyes. 

“Flattery will not keep you off the list.” 

***** 

Dorian frowned at the selection of horses the Inquisition had to offer. All Ferelden nags, though the few that Dennett had sent were a moderate improvement. Still nothing compared to the Imperial horses he had back home. Then in another field by itself was a Red Hart, or at least that’s what Solas called it. It was obviously his, as it wouldn’t near the gate without the bald elf. 

Suddenly all the horses scattered, kicking up dust and grass. Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Skittish parasites.” Came an increasingly familiar growl. He turned to see Banal glaring at the field. Strange animals don’t usually run from people, especially elves…or was that just a stereotype? 

“Well maybe if you weren’t so gloomy, they wouldn’t run from you, Smiley. Then at least you get a real horse.” The dwarf, Varric, was walking alongside the Herald. The Herald had refused to take anyone aside from Solas, Varric, and of course Dorian to Redcliffe. Which made the Tevinter a little uneasy having no warrior to take the brunt force. 

“I have a real horse, Varric.” Banal rolled his eyes as he walked passed Dorian. 

“Oh it’s a real horse alright. A real dead one.” Varric shook his head. Dorian’s eyebrows shot up. Curiosity plagued him. They had an undead horse? Dorian left Dennett to settle a horse enough to ride, and followed the pair to a small pen near the blacksmith. There was a black skinned, decaying corpse of a horse with a sword through its skull. 

“Maker’s breath! Who brought that back from the dead?” He muttered looking at literally a skull with black skin stretched over it. 

“I don’t know. The Mage Collective sent it. They did a shit job on the bindings though.” Banal shrugged as he scratched behind a non-existent ear. Dorian was amazed at the preservation, the bindings and what have you. He came closer to examine said bindings and found them sound if not doubly sound. 

“I take it you rebound it?” Dorian as the elf. Banal eyed him strangely. Varric was amazed that the prim and proper Tevinter mage wasn’t covering his nose with a silk handkerchief. Or fainting. Of course he was from Tevinter… 

“Of course. Can’t have my horse disintegrating beneath me while I ride it.” 

Dorian nodded before he looked at him with a flabbergasted expression. “You ride it?” He had a hard time picturing someone who was supposed to be Andraste’s chosen riding a dead horse brought back to life. He could just picture the ballads, the tapestries depicting the Herald on horse with a sword for a horn. They’d probably change it to a unicorn just to save innocents from nightmares. 

“Is there a problem, Tevinter Shem?” 

“It has a _sword_ through its _skull_.” Dorian motioned as the horse bobbed its head in agreement…or maggots were eating its brain. Which wouldn’t do much if there was a spirit residing in the body. 

Banal rolled his eyes as he gripped the handle and clicked his tongue. The horse reared up, keeping its head steady to allow the sword lodged in its brain to slid out. It was rusted and covered in brain juice and probably couldn’t cut butter, but how the elf got it was more frightening. 

“Exactly that’s the point.” Varric sighed to himself as the Herald smiled. “Smiley here thinks in terms of can this kill something, how fast can it kill, and if he could kill things using it.” 

“You know me so well, Varric.” 

“You aren’t exactly hard to figure out.” 

“Well I will say that the bindings you used are unusual. In my studies I’ve never seen ones in that pattern.” Dorian noted, his magic training making the bindings clear to him, though no one else seemed to notice them. 

Banal and Varric blinked at the human. “Of course not, those bindings predate shemlen.” 

“Truly?” Dorian was skeptical but then again he had heard the Dalish strove to preserve the ancient elven ways that his ancestors destroyed. “I’m curious as to where you learned them.” 

Banal snorted. “You learn much tramping about old ruins.” 

Dorian bit back a sigh and an eye roll as the elf seemed incapable of giving long answers. He tried a new tactic. He had to earn trust somehow after all. “That mark just below the binding proper, what is it for?” 

Banal looked back at his horse for a moment before continuing to stare at the odd human. Most humans turned up their noses at necromancy. Said it was just blood magic. Which was apparently a bad magic, though to Banal it sounded powerful and normal. Still Dorian taking an interest made Banal wonder about the Tevinter. 

“It counteracts the normal decay of strength the binding proper will inevitably have.” Banal explained. Varric understood nothing out of that sentence save for that Banal was speaking trade tongue. Those words together made no sense. 

But Dorian nodded and contemplated it. “Interesting, so you’ve taken the binding proper and inversed it into a binding minor? So the magics act as a catalyst for each other? But how do you account for magic being lost in the conversion?” 

If it was possible for Banal to be surprised he was. His mind struggled to comprehend that a mere human could grasp such a spell so easily. “Silly shemlen. Magic is never lost. It merely takes another form, which other bindings absorb and expel it as the magic for the binding proper.” 

“I’m leaving before this shit gets any creepier.” Varric muttered as he left the obviously stunned Herald to chat about dead spells. He shook his head as he laughed. His inner writer was already thinking of plot twists as though this were one of his tales. If Varric were the author, he’d make the morose elf fall for a certain suave Tevinter. But how ridiculous would that be? 

***** 

“Herald, a question if I may?” Josephine called as she approached the elf watching Harriet sharpen the blade that would go into his horse’s skull. She shivered and tried to hide her gag reflex as Banal turned to her. 

“Even if I say no, you’ll still ask.” 

Josephine chuckled to herself. She found the Herald blunt as a mace, as tactful as a dragon, and as charming as a giant. But his complete honesty was a nice change from her normal dealings. 

“True enough.” 

“Ask your question, Ambassador.” Somehow it felt nice to be called Ambassador rather than Shemlen which now all save her and Blackwall were called. She took it as a mark of trust the elf had. Or perhaps tolerance is a better word. 

“I was wondering if anyone here has treated you unkindly, Herald, for being an elf.” She held back her wince at the subject. She worried greatly at how the Inquisition treated him. He was the Herald, but also a mage and an elf. A very unsociable, and not very liked elven mage at that. The number of rumors among their recruits alone would have crippled anyone’s reputation in Orlais. 

“Treated me unkindly?” His voice held amusement before he gave a laugh. It was his usual dark chuckle, but he seemed truly amused at her. It reminded her of her father for a moment. “Ambassador, even if a shemlen had the gall to call me knife-ears, do you think I could not or would not handle it?” 

She winced. Him handling it was exactly what she was worried about. “Have you been called that by members of the Inquisition?” 

“Of course not. Most members, Ambassador, are like children frightened of a monster under their bed too busy to look in their closets for the true demon.” She wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be the monster under the bed, or the one in the closet… 

“Do tell me if this changes.” Banal cocked an eyebrow that made her hurry on. “If we are to convince the world that Andraste’s chosen is an elf, the Inquisition must support you entirely.” 

“And spell purging me was supportive?” 

She sighed. She didn’t blame him for feeling anger at being purged. From the burns and the bruises on him, she gathered it was quite an ordeal. What amazed almost everyone was that he was able to counteract the purge. It also angered them that he killed one of their own. And it frightened them. 

“I will try to dissuade them from doing such things in the future, Herald, as well as combating the rumors of ‘wild Dalish elves’ as best I can.” She bowed slightly. 

“Rumors? What rumors?” he asked, taking the sword offered to him. He rolled his wrist, slicing through the air easily. Josephine’s heart stopped for a moment, the blade coming too close for comfort. 

“I could not repeat them.” 

“Please, Ambassador, I am not Dalish.” 

“Stealing children for blood magic, selling villagers to slavers…And those are the ones told about the Dalish, I will not repeat what they say about you.” 

Banal snorted. How cute, shemlen who once had lusted after the Elvhen were now threatened by them it seemed. He knew how to play the Game they were playing. Spread vicious rumors to make the ill-educated afraid, or angry; they’ll fight or spark a war. They’ll do the dirty work that will ensure you stayed in power. 

Then a little spark appeared in Banal’s mind. It infuriated him that his People had fallen so low. They were gutter trash. They had lost everything, immortality, their empire, their magic. To scavengers. Parasites. Banal didn’t feel kinship with these elves (he was nothing like them after all), but they were remnants of the Elvhen. He remembered Keeper Deshanna after he had awoken. 

The elderly woman seemed so excited. All of that little Clan did. It was disgusting as it was fascinating. They had explained to him the state of the Elvhen among other things. And at the time he didn’t care. When they asked him questions, he ignored them. They were not his kin; they were mortal and pathetic. But now that the white was in his hair once more. He knew that something must be done. They may not be Elvhen, but they were descendants. They had more claim to this world than the shemlen who seemed content with destroying the world. 

But better yet, his darkness came back. Let the humans have the world. They were much more easily manipulated than the Elvhen. They were so easily frightened and far more violent. Modern elves were skittish and far more submissive. Thousands of years ago, they wouldn’t have hesitated to massacre a village. Now they were more likely to hide in their houses. 

“It may help if I knew more about how the Dalish lived…or how you lived before the Inquisition.” Josephine attempted to glean more information than Leliana was able to extract from the Dalish Clan. They were dead set in protecting him, even if he couldn’t care less about them. 

“From the year I spent with them, they were very committed to their ways, stubborn, perhaps arrogant.” Banal looked out over the frozen lake, remembering that time. “They are lost, not wanted by humans and other elves, but they don’t care. They’ve got quite a bit wrong, but they are willing to correct it.” He paused with a loud sigh, noticing he was inadvertently praising them. “I’d describe them like trees.” 

“Trees, Herald?” She cocked her eyebrow. She was amazed that Banal knew such things as positive praising even if it was a bit backhanded. 

“Though vines try to strangle a young sapling, or a lightning bolt snaps a limb off, the tree still grows. It adapts. It bends and twists, heals and grows anew. Its roots reach deep down, so far down it cannot possibly know all of itself.” 

It took Josephine a moment to articulate her thoughts. “That was beautiful, Herald…” 

Banal snorted looking back at her with his half-lidded eyes. “Don’t get used to it. They are still idiots for tattooing their faces with slave markings and are still no more than shemlen with pointed ears.” 

“Of course, Herald.” 

***** 

“So you are sure you don’t want to bring, Blackwall or Tiny with us?” Varric asked as they entered Redcliffe. Solas and the dwarf walked behind the Herald, a gut feeling that this was going to end badly for all parties. Still the dark elf walked towards the castle, despite his magic being diminished. 

Banal snorted loudly. “As though I need someone to defend me, Varric.” 

“Well I was thinking more of defending me or Chuckles…” 

“Don’t worry, durgen’len. I will keep the shemlen away from your crossbow.” Banal gave a wry smirk at his dirty joke. Varric blinked for a moment. 

“Oh ho ho, the Herald can play dirty.” 

“What did you think I was a Chantry priest?” They began heading for the castle, accompanied by some no doubt Ventatori escorts. Dorian and the agents should have been beginning to infiltrate. “Granted I do not understand a great many things about modern courtship…or your strange relationship with your weapon…” 

“Shhh, he didn’t mean it, Bianca.” The dwarf laughed as he patted the crossbow. 

“Precisely what I’m talking about…” 

“I think it’s best we don’t know, Herald.” Solas muttered as they reached the large doors. Banal sneered at the amount of wolves and canines decorating their surface. Long ago, Elvhen used such symbols to show Fen’Harel. And it just rekindled that hatred he felt when he woke up. 

“The invitation was for Lavellan only.” A blond headed man said as they entered. He glared at Solas and Varric, but Banal’s own stare made his waiver. Pathetic sniveling little cockroaches thinking they had any right to deny him something. 

“Announce us, cockroach.” His voice was venomous. The human flinched as though he had just been hit. “You have to the count of five, before I roast you inside out. One.” 

“I’m sorry but—“ The man’s splotchy face paled, his pupils dilating. A thin tendril quivered out of Banal’s heart to wrap around the human. His pulse was quick, his palms were sweaty, and he was positively nutritious. His fear, his pride, and his anger were all sucked down greedily. Banal rolled his shoulders, his magic finally getting some life back to it. 

“Four.” 

“This way.” The man motioned to the stairs before nearly running up them. He tripped once, making Banal smile to himself. 

“I love it when you scare people who aren’t me…” Varric muttered as Tevinter warriors closed rank behind them. 

“Indeed, I never thought your intimidation would ever serve a purpose.” Solas commented. He disliked having these people at his back so he kept glancing over his shoulder to check their positions. 

Banal snorted. He could care less about the people behind them. His magic seeped out and around their hearts. At any given moment he could squeeze and splatter their ribs with a brilliant scarlet mosaic all his own. 

“Fear is sometimes the best weapon.” 

*****

“You need mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So what are you willing to offer me in exchange for their services?” Alexius looked down at Banal from that god-awful throne. Banal had to fight a sneer off his face. A lowly human thought himself in control, above a being that strived for total annihilation. The gall. 

“Does not killing you count as an offer?” Banal growled. 

“I’d take it, Alexius, Smiley’s been looking for something to brutally kill for two days now.” Varric muttered. 

“I beg your pardon friend?” The magister blinked as though finally noticing the sorry shape the Herald’s face was in. Or his barely contained hostility. 

“I. Am. Not. Your. Friend. Cockroach. Magister.” Banal hissed. He held his chin higher to look down his nose. He held himself as though a king in his own castle. More importantly his magic flared at the word cockroach. “So I suggest you start begging, shem.” 

“I can say no, you know. Where would your Inquisition be then? Begging for the Templars?” 

Banal snorted. “Cockroach, shemlen. There is only one thing that I will accept no to: sex.” He smirked as anger knitted the human’s brow. “Everything else? Well let’s say you have no choice, Alexius. We’ve taken the liberty of disarming your foolish little trap. Points for disrupting time just for me though. I’m flattered.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t kn—“ 

“He knows everything, Father.” Felix spoke up. The young man was concerned that was apparent. He also looked sicker than when they had last seen him. Alexius looked at his son bewildered. 

“Felix, what have you done?” 

“Possibly stopped you from attempting something that would have gotten you both killed.” 

“So speaks the thief. Do you think you can turn my son against me?” Alexius glowered at Banal’s pleasing smirk and batting eyelashes. Of course he could. That was mere child’s play for him. Just a bit of a twist of the young man’s pride, perhaps a dash of anger, and a smidgen of greed to bring out all the little dark morsels inside his diseased heart. “You walk into my stronghold with your stolen Mark—a gift you don’t even understand—and think you are in control? You’re nothing but a mistake.” 

Banal’s eyebrows went up. Then his face dropped any illusion he had of pleasantness. The difference was striking. His eyes flashed dangerously, the whites turning black for a moment. Images of strewn body parts flickered in his eyes. 

How dare this sniveling little _mortal_ speak to him like that? Calling him a thief? As though Banal needed to steal anything. People threw what he needed at his feet in hopes they’d be spared. A dark laugh bubbled out of the elf as he thought of the sheer idiocy of that one sentence: you are a mistake. 

“If I’m a mistake, then pray tell what was this glowing scar supposed to accomplish?” Banal chuckled. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been called that. In fact it was probably the nicest insult he’d ever received, which just made it funny that the shemlen was trying to insult him. Still the tone was not appreciated. Negative 5000 points. 

“It belongs to your betters. You couldn’t even begin to understand its purpose.” The magister was on his feet now, bristling like a dog. Banal snorted. How much ego could one tiny little mortal have? 

“Father, listen to yourself. Do you know what you sound like?” Felix interrupted. Despite the black disease creeping inside his veins, Banal could feel, see that bright light that pierced through it all, saving him from dying sooner. Or was that just the medicine? 

“He sounds exactly like the villainous cliché everyone expects us to be.” Dorian’s voice sounded around the room as he walked from the shadows. He was definitely given a gift of making dramatic entrances. Banal rolled his eyes at the mage as he stood beside him. 

Alexius’s disapproval was visible on his face. “Dorian. I gave you a chance to be a part of this and you turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe…” Banal’s mind tuned out the rest. The Elder One? Anger started filling his veins, pushing darkness to his fingertips. His magic flickered over his skin for a moment before he reigned it in. “Please, you and your Elder One are merely pretenders, mimicking something you can barely comprehend.” His voice held bitter venom in it as he spoke. “I’ve seen it a thousand times, and every time the pretenders end up dead, and I get a new stain on my clothes.” 

“Well, you know, it’s a chance for the Imperium to one up that whole ‘starting the Blight’ thing.” Dorian quipped. 

“He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.” Alexius sounded like he was only trying to convince himself. Banal’s lips quivered as he fought to keep his smile from showing. Carefully, far more carefully than he had done before, he let a piece of his magic slither through tiny cracks in Alexius’s barriers. Inside he found a wound festering with maggots all feeding off one thing: Felix. 

“Talk a bit louder, Alexius, eventually you’ll convince yourself that this is for Felix.” Banal’s voice cut through all other cluttered. He walked with hooded eyes of a lazy cat. “Personally, if I were this _god_ I would tell you what you wanted to hear when in actuality, I’d give you just enough rope to hang yourself with.” 

Felix looked at Banal then at his father with disappointment. “I’m going to die, Father. You need to accept that.” 

Alexius’s face hardened as he looked at those in front of him. “Seize them Venatori. The Elder One demands this elf’s life!” 

“Oh come now, I’m so much more than just an elf!” Banal almost sounded like he was whining. But heard under and above his voice were the sweet sounds of snapping neck. Wet noises of death that sent shivers through Banal and rested in his stomach. “I just love that sound.” He laughed as the magister looked about, finding Inquisition agents standing over still warm corpses of his Venatori. 

“You…are a mistake. You should never have existed.” Alexius reached into his pocket as he growled. Banal snorted. If he had a village for every time someone said that to him, he’d rule the entire world. But then the magister pulled out an odd little trinket, pushing magic into it as it hovered. 

“No!” Dorian cut upwards with his staff, a pulse of other magic that knocked the magister off guard. Still the air around Banal shifted, magic stuck to him, pulled him. He felt it morph and rearrange him. His head was spinning, unsure which way was up as the magic engulfed him and Dorian. Darkness surrounded them for a split second before shoving them through a light. 

And they were in a dungeon. Banal blinked, head not really on right enough for him to comprehend what just happened. 

“Blood of the Elder One!” 

“Where’d they come from?!” Two Venatori warriors muttered as they ran to open the gates. 

Banal smirked. He may not understand what was going on, but he did know he wanted to kill something. His fingers twitched as lightning sparked around him. The red came back as he grinned. 

Without waiting for them to even draw their swords, he rushed them. He could feel their panic. Mages don’t run at enemies. But Banal…Lightning decorated his skin as his fist connected to one of their chests. The man seized a bit, gurgling noises coming from his throat. Banal ducked the blade meant for his shoulder. With a little step, his elbow shoved the Venatori’s gut into his ribs. 

Banal grabbed their idiotic helmets and tossed them away. His magic condensed in his muscles, claws growing. He slashed, nails biting into the cheek of one. His fingers hooked under the skin, tearing it away from the bone. The man screamed as blood poured from his face. Some splattered on Banal like spring rain. 

While the man gripped his face and screamed, the other one rose up a sword to cleave the elf’s head in two. Dorian, who had been completely caught off guard by the Herald’s bloodlust, snapped out of it. His fingers found his staff as his mouth whispered a spell. 

Ice locked around the Venatori. Banal smirked feeling the cold roll off the body. Quickly he reached for the other man. He grabbed both sides of his jaw as he would a lover. His face was a picture of serenity as the man pleaded with his eyes, jaw unable to move. If only the Herald had a heart… 

His neck snapping made a delightfully wet sound. Banal dropped him and turned to the quickly thawing ice sculpture. Dorian’s staff was sending little lightning bolts to do as much damage as possible. Banal snorted to himself. He funneled all his energy into his left hand, pointing it like a sword. 

His hand cut through the frozen flesh easily. Cracks snaked their way outwards from the gaping hole. Bits and pieces fell to the floor as hot blood coated Banal’s hand and wrist. He ripped it back out, blood splattering against his Enchanter Armor like handcrafted embroidery. The man dropped into a pile of frozen and bleeding pieces. 

Dorian swallowed a bit of bile as the elf knelt to retrieve one of their swords. He flicked his wrists a few times to test it before he looked up at Dorian with those strange eyes. Right now, they glinted like a feral cat’s in dim light. It was rather unnerving, and a bit hypnotizing at the same time. 

The Altus broke himself off. That was a bad path to go down, especially with an elven mage who knew how to amplify his physical body with magic…That thought lead to other inquiries about what he could and couldn’t do. None of which were relevant to the situation. He shook his head fiercely and turned away from Banal who was too busy studying the room to notice. 

“Displacement? Interesting.” Dorian muttered, stroking his chin. Banal slowly refocused on the human. His body shook as his magic receded from his muscles. But the blood finding ways through his armor and dripping down his hand was worth the exhaustion. “It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The Rift must have moved us…to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?” 

Banal stayed silent as he watched the human contemplate the surroundings. “Let’s see, if we are still in the castle, it isn’t…Oh! Of course! It’s not simple where—its when!” Dorian’s eyes lit up as though he solved the greatest mystery. “Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!” 

Banal snorted in response, too busy looking at the dark surroundings to really notice much else. It was dark, dank with water coming up to their knees in places of the sunken floor. Banal’s braid’s tip created tiny ripples as he moved his head around. The air was full of mold and the stench of decaying mortar. There was a distinctly lyrium smell underneath it, obviously coming from the red lyrium crystals. 

Those made it a tad harder to breathe. Both the mages instinctively moved as far away from it as possible. It was like breathing in tiny crystal flakes that cut your throat and stabbed your lungs, embedding themselves in individual cells. 

But aside from that, it was lovely. Banal’s magic hesitantly flickered out. What it tasted was sweet and succulent despair and fear. It was much like a finely brewed brandy, aged to perfection and opened precisely at the right moment. He could almost hear the screams of the innocents, feel their blood rushing around him and making him dizzy. 

He liked it here. 

His magic suckled at the walls and the floors, pulling every tiny remnant of pain and death it could find. He felt more outside the room and longed to taste as well. Each bit had its own unique feel or flavor to his magic. Some were sharp and powerful, others soft and humble. Sour or sweet, vile or innocent, it didn’t matter. It was power and Banal drank it in greedily. His body was still damaged, but his magic mended itself quickly. 

“We’ve seen his temporal Rifts before. This time we simply…passed through one…” 

“Hmph.” Banal answered. 

Dorian looked at him oddly. “We are possibly stranded in the future, in a dank dungeon and all you can say is ‘hmph’?” 

Banal finally looked over at him. The human was obviously frazzled, or perhaps worried about this situation, but he was attempting to remain calm. Banal smiled slightly. “Please, this place needs a few more torture racks and bloodstains to be considered a real dungeon.” He said in a tone that was like he was critiquing an Orelsian woman’s study. _Oh yes, that bloodstain on the wall compliments the knee high water perfectly. You can practically taste the despair it brings._ “The Red Lyrium is a nice step in the right direction though.” 

Dorian couldn’t help a slight chuckle as the elf kept a completely straight face. “Yes well, I would prefer more silks and less muck in my dungeons personally.” Banal rolled his eyes. “Let’s look around, see where the Rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back…if we can.” 

“I take it you have some thoughts on that?” 

“I do. They’re lovely thoughts, like little jewels…” 

***** 

“Alexius sure has done a number on the castle, hasn’t he?” Dorian muttered looking at all the red lyrium crystals. They were wandering about the castle for some time. It was rather nice, Banal had to admit. The dankness of the dungeons filled his lungs with mold and moisture like they had been in days of old. He didn’t mind the dirt on his bare feet turning to mud or stepping into puddles of blood. It was all…so familiar. It was like being home but with more red lyrium. 

“I didn’t see this part of the castle.” Banal mumbled in an almost blissful tone. He had that small pain of homesickness inside his chest. But he countered it by focusing on the discomfort the other mage oozed. 

“It was covered in the tackiest carvings of wolves and dogs I’ve ever seen…This is not an improvement…” 

“Really? I suppose it’s a matter of personal taste.” Dorian stopped and eyed the Herald oddly as he inspected a red lyrium sprout of crystals as though they were some bouquet… “Don’t get me wrong, I could do without inhaling the dust, but it’s not a terrible decorating scheme…could use some walls made out of skulls.” 

“You and I have very different tastes then Herald.” 

“Banal.” He hissed. 

“What?” Dorian looked like he half expected to be cursed from that word. 

“My name is Banal. I don’t see the point of having a name if no one uses it.” He rolled his eyes. “Herald this, and Herald that. How many times do I have to shout to the heavens: I am NOT the Herald of some burnt woman. Herald of Death and Destruction, maybe. Depends on my mood.” 

“Has anyone told you you’re a delight?” 

“I’d accuse them of lying if they did.” 

“Right, shall we continue looking for your companions?” Dorian motioned towards the door as the Herald glared at him. 

“If we must.” 

“You aren’t worried or afraid about being possibly stranded in the future, surrounded by Venatori?” Dorian cocked an eyebrow as he watched the laid back nature of the elf. It was like he was walking through the park on a sunny day rather than being in an enemy castle of the horrendous future. 

“How could I possibly be frightened of men, future or present, who wear helmets that look like cockroach antennas? The only frightening thing here is the fact that they wear such helmets.” 

***** 

Banal lost track of time as they wandered through the halls. So much red lyrium was sprouting out of the walls and filling the air with its dust that at times the two mages had to take a breather in a relatively clear hall. Even Banal knew he couldn’t touch raw lyrium lest in the Fade. That much pure magic zipping through his veins would send his power out of control and he’d no doubt incinerate everything and everyone along with himself. Not the whole world, so it would be a waste. 

They had founded Varric and Solas both infected with the red stuff, making them seem more demon like. It was an improvement as far as Banal was concerned. Granted the dwarf was still himself, if only a bit melancholy, which again was an improvement. Solas was more melancholy if possible, but he was also hopeful. That one tiny flicker in an otherwise dark world annoyed Banal. 

It was like having light shone in his eyes after spending days in the dark. It stung the back of his head as they all wandered about soon finding Leliana in all her diseased and skeletal glory. Banal smirked at the sight of her. He’d have to thank this Elder One…before ripping his head off and showing the world what a true god was. 

Fiona had told him about this Elder One, how he was some sort of god. It was all nonsense. He was a shemlen, a child trying to fit into a throne far too big for him. He was a shadow of a shadow. 

Seriously, a demon army? Any self-respecting god wouldn’t have to use malleable spirits, beings that were so easily manipulated to do his or her bidding. They’d do it themselves. Tear through nations with wars crafted from lies. Sacrifice hundreds and thousands on both sides without hesitating. Play with mortal lives like puppets. A tug here and you make a battle. A tug there and you assassinate the Empress, preferably with your own hands. 

Spirits were easily replaced. Their deaths wouldn’t serve anything. Sure there was the fear factor, but if you really wanted to scare someone, you make a crown out of a skull, mount their loved one’s head on a pike and convince their children to kill them. Using spirits was just a cop out. 

Moreover, making the Breach larger, infecting citizens with lyrium? All of this was just…pathetic. Where was the endless war? The stench of rotting corpses? Where were the displays of true power? The blood sacrifices? Where was the destruction, the death? 

He would show this poser how it was done. 

***** 

“What’s that? Hold on to it, I want to look at it later.” Dorian mumbled as Banal turned an oddly carved piece of red lyrium in his hands. He had gotten it off a Venatori mage they had just killed, his blood still steaming on the cold castle floor. 

“Yes let’s let the Herald hold a piece of _**red**_ lyrium till we are done strolling about the castle.” Varric grumbled. Banal rolled his eyes. 

“Please, this tiny piece holds no danger for me.” Banal snorted. Though, had he not had gloves on, he was sure even this small piece of lyrium would have twisted and tore at him. He pocketed the thing and looked to the throne room. 

They walked up to the large staircase. Only to find the door sealed shut and its locked was the strongest lock imaginable: an Elven lock. Well, someone was desperate. 

Unfortunately, Banal knew just this type of lock, having had ones similar to it in his own temple. His keys were made from the bones of his sons. He chuckled darkly remembering the horror that overcame his group upon realizing what the ocularum were crafted from. 

“Maker’s breath, where did Alexius get that? How did he even move it here?” Dorian exclaimed as he tried to examine the tiny spaces that the keys would go into. “How paranoid can he be?” 

“I’d be real paranoid if Smiley was after me.” Varric snorted. 

“Why because I could think of twenty different ways to skin you so that you wouldn’t die during the process? Or because I know how to break every bone without damaging anything else. Or—“ 

“We get the point, Smiley. Alexius picked the wrong elf to send to the future.” 

“Interesting. How do we open it?” Dorian was still messing with the door. 

Banal snorted as he walked up beside him. “It’s an elven door.” He noted as he pointed to the holes. “Those are where the keys go, whatever they may be.” 

“And you know this because…?” 

“I’m an Elvhen. These doors were not so uncommon in the time of Arlathan. Mostly they were used to keep evil locked inside…or on the outside, depends really.” Solas narrowed his eyes at the Herald, wondering how he had obtained such knowledge. No Dalish Clan he knew of had stumbled across any of the temples that used these locks. Most of them were destroyed, and those that weren’t were hidden in obscure areas. 

Banal paid no mind as he bent down to study the separate carvings. One looked oddly familiar… He reached in his pocket and took out the piece of lyrium. They were cut the same way. “It appears Magister Alexius crafted this door use red lyrium shards as keys.” 

“So how do we open it?” 

“Simple find all the shards and” Banal clicked the shard into place, “voilà! Door opens.” 

“Then what are we standing around here for?” Varric asked as he started walking backwards. 

“Quite right, Varric. I believe it’s time to exterminate some bugs.” 

“You do realize that I’m Tevinter as well, yes?” Dorian asked as he followed the elf down. The way the Herald seemed to view all his compatriots as little bugs was as infuriating as it was disconcerting. 

Banal stopped and eyed him oddly. “I am aware yes. Do you have a point, shem?” 

Dorian stopped himself from making some angry comment about being called shemlen (which he figured was a racial slur). He sighed. “Do you see me as some bug to be squashed because I am Tevinter?” An amused smirk graced the Herald’s face like he was trying not to laugh at something in his head. “Weren’t you the one that said you marginally more handsome than a cockroach? Am I not allowed to agree and give you the benefit of the doubt that you aren’t like the others from your country?” 

“Whoa, are you flirting, Smiley?” Varric interjected quickly. Shock was clear on all of his companions’ faces. Dorian’s happened to be the most shocked. Which made Banal chuckle as though he had planned all of this. 

“Varric, were I _flirting_ Dorian wouldn’t have clothes on by now.” Banal laughed as there were a mixed reaction. Varric went from confused to chuckling. Dorian had to fight a blush and settled for a glare. And Solas just sighed loudly in disapproval. “Besides I said I only agreed that he was marginally more handsome than a cockroach. It’s above nug’s feet, but is below rotting corpses.” 

“Oh my, I’m afraid to ask you what tops your list of attractiveness if I’m below your horse basically.” Dorian quipped. The look the elf gave was like a jungle cat watching his prey or a demon lying in wait for a mage to let down their guard just once. Coupled with the eerie lighting, it made Dorian’s gut twist like he really didn’t want to know. 

“A cloudy night of a new moon, when the sky and earth blend together in perfect darkness. That moment before the first lightning strike to penetrate the gloom. That is my idea of beauty.” Banal’s tone was soft before he got that evil smile back. “But consider yourself lucky that I find something even slightly attractive on a shemlen.” 

Varric snorted. “Well aren’t you a poet? Take it you find humans hideous?” They began walking towards a door that lead to the many hallways. They just needed to find four more shards, so four more mages. But the castle was oddly deserted, not that Banal blamed them. The lyrium produced a too pungent odor for even him. 

“I find shemlen disproportionate, they are too tall and somewhat stocky. And then the facial hair. What purpose does it serve growing an animal on their face? Does it keep them warm? Catch food bits for later?” Dorian rolled his eyes, ignoring most of the conversation. So count the Herald out. 

“Yes and growing hair to your knees isn’t just as ridiculous.” 

“Believe it or not, my hair was longer. I cut it.” 

“Really? What was it before? A mile long?” Varric snorted. 

“Just to my ankles, but it was beginning to drag and it caught too much on twigs while I danced naked in the moonlight, summoning demons and what have you.” 

Varric stopped a moment to study the completely serious facial expression on the elf. Then he noticed the mischievous glimmer in his eyes. And the dwarf laughed. “Seriously?” 

“No, not seriously.” Banal waved it away. “This is the longest I’ve had my hair.” 

Solas noticed how the Herald didn’t deny summoning demons while Dorian noted he didn’t deny dancing naked in the moonlight. 

***** 

“Ah, there you are. So terribly rude to lock me out Alexius.” Banal smiled as he waltzed into the throne room. It was darker than it was before, but otherwise the same. The magister had his head hung as he stared at the fire. The despair and anguish that was hidden so well was now plain to see. Suddenly Banal thought of a worm. That's what Alexius reminded him of, a worm crawling on its belly, squirming when someone picked it up but being utterly helpless. It revolted him. 

“I knew that you would appear again, not that it would be now. But I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.” 

“Was it worth it? Everything you did to the world? To yourself?” Dorian growled, as though a worm could hold regret or even be worth trying to save. 

“It doesn’t matter now. All we can do is wait for the end.” 

“Oh for the love of the Void!” Banal growled loudly. “You pathetic little sniveling cockroach of a shemlen! Show a little bit of a backbone!” Anger pulsed through Banal. How had he let this thing even try to touch him? How could he have thought to stay here in this world where he was supposedly beat by a shemlen who could not function on his own? This dried up husk of an idiot sparked every livid nerve Banal had in his body. He decided that he would not let this stand. He was going back to the present and throwing Elder One bits all across Thedas for the sheer nerve of trying to become a god. 

“Felix!” Brought him back to the matter at hand. Banal’s anger was palpable in the air as his staff groaned from strain. Leliana had moved behind Felix and was pressing a blade to the corpse-like man’s neck. 

“Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?” Dorian hissed. 

“I saved him…” 

Banal snorted, readying his staff like a spear. He was ending this now. He wanted to go back now. Fuck all the talking and drama; this human needed to die a year ago. Red bled into black as Banal thought of it all. They wanted a god? He could give them a god. He would kill this Elder One before he had a chance. He would know what a true god was. His magic leaked out of the mark, thick black tendrils striking the air. The ground trembled as he let his magic absorb all the death and destruction of this future. It was like a vacuum of magical energy was around the elf. 

“Kill him, Leliana.” His voice was deep and dark as a desire demon’s. As Alexius watched the knife be drawn across his son’s throat, the anger, anguish morphed and twisted his face. He struck at Leliana with his magic before turning to them. But when he turned all he saw was a shadow in place of the Herald. It stopped his head for a moment. 

It was a moment he shouldn’t have wasted. For in that moment, Banal sped forward, shadow wisps falling to the ground. Using his staff as a spear, he shoved the blade through the magister’s heart. Blood gurgled up his throat as he stared in disbelief and horror as the shadows detached from the elf. His face was fury incarnate. Black made a sharp contrast against his vivid irises. The burn on the side of his jaw made it seem like he was an abomination shedding its skin. 

The shadows encircled them, devouring the blood as Banal pushed the staff further. Blood spurted and coated the haft in a hot sticky mess. The light slowly went out of Alexius’s eyes just as the blade pierced his back. 

Banal’s staff was ruined. The blood soaked into the wood making it soft and should he channel magic through it, it would snap in half. Which was why he hated wooden staves! With a disgusted sound he ripped his staff from the magister, letting the body fall unceremoniously to the ground. He was coated with differing layers of blood as he turned to his companions. 

Dorian’s face was paler than might have been possible as he looked at the blood literally dripping off the elf. His mouth tried to move, to articulate his displeasure. Surely there was no reason to kill him. Banal seemed to be able to read his expression for the elf snorted loudly. 

“If you do not this outcome, I suggest you send us back.” His voice was still dark as the magic whipped around him. 

“Thought you liked it here, Smiley?” Varric smiled, thanking the Maker that for once he didn’t have to convince the elf to do the right thing as he had thought when the elf first announced he like it here. Though he knew the reason why Banal wanted to go back was probably not the most altruistic reason in the world. But still. 

“As though I could stomach living in a world where _that_ ” He spat down at Alexius’s corpse lay, “had seemingly defeated me.” He bent down and searched the magister’s pockets, finding that strange amulet again. “This is it, yes?” He tossed it to Dorian who remarkable caught it. 

“Y-yes.” His voice waivered for a moment, feeling the metal slick with blood from Banal’s fingers. “It’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief.” He took a steadying breath. The Herald was of course right. If he wanted to save Alexius, he had to send them back. That thought calmed him. He had a task to accomplish and it had to be perfect. Some habits were hard to break it seemed. “Give me an hour to figure out the spell he used.” 

“An hour?” Leliana’s gruff voice squeaked a bit. “No you must go now.” Then the castle shook, a familiar sound coming to Banal’s ears. A high dragon called loudly from the skies. Banal took it as the fun was just beginning. He hadn’t found a dragon to kill yet, and how he missed that particularly hot blood coating him. 

To the others it was something else entirely. “The Elder One.” 

Banal rolled his eyes as Varric and Solas shared a sad look. “We will guard the hall, take out as many as we can.” Varric nodded in agreement as Solas spoke. “You must hurry though. Once we are cut down, it’ll be up to you.” He looked at Leliana. 

Banal cocked his head slightly. He had a suspicion this wasn’t out of the kindness of their hearts nor were they true followers of Banal. If they were, them sacrificing themselves would have been expected. But these were not his worshippers. His mind whirled for a moment before coming to the conclusion of they want to fix the past and Banal’s safety assured that. 

“You say that as though this Elder One would be a threat to me, Pride.” He snorted. The bald elf sighed before turning and heading for the door with the dwarf by his side. 

“Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.” 

**** 

When the attack begun, at first there was a lot of racket outside. It made it hard for Dorian to focus on his spell. He had been used to facing down raids and what have you from growing up on the Eastern side of the Imperium. But knowing that the entire world’s future literally rested on him getting this spell right…let’s say Dorian was far from calm. 

Luckily, Banal was calm enough for them both. He leaned against the fireplace, as Dorian prepared, like a house cat. He didn’t even flinch when the fighting began outside. He watched the human mage work, occasionally cleaning under his nails or shifting his pose. But not one ounce of caring that two people were dying for him out there. 

Dorian could suppose that like the Magisterium Banal was just adept at keeping his emotions under control in times like this. Which could be a good thing. If he really did lead an army of the faithful, it wouldn’t do to have a Herald that was constantly breaking down and worrying about every little person. 

Still he could show something. 

Then Leliana began her prayer to which Banal snarled at. She notched an arrow and aimed it just as the door blew open. Dorian looked up at the elf who took that as his cue to saunter over to the spot he had before. Still no emotion over Leliana shooting arrow after arrow or a Terror demon tossing the body of Varric to the side as it came in. 

But that dragon’s roar did spark some life into the statue-like behavior. In a form of a very savage smile. Those contrasted eyes lit up as he looked down from the ceiling towards Leliana fighting with a now useless bow. But Banal wasn’t seeing her. He was seeing far away a dragon barreling down on the castle. He was seeing bloody rivers and charred corpses. He took a step forward but a hand caught him. 

“You move, and we all die.” Dorian shouted above the chaos. The Herald looked once at the doors before returning to his spot. He would get to kill another dragon someday if he had his way. 

The spell engulfed them right as Leliana started seeing black. It was much like the first time, magic compressing them, stretching them and condensing them again. This time however Banal wasn’t taken by surprise so when he opened his eyes to the throne room he had been ripped from his mind was clear. 

And he wanted a certain magister’s head on a stake. 

Sadly, he supposed he had to be diplomatic. Still intimidation was a useful tool. He turned to Alexius who was obviously surprised, but perhaps a bit relieved. Then the color drained from his face as he saw the elf literally covered in blood. 

“I suggest you refrain from doing that trick again. As much as I love killing you, it would become dreadfully boring and my armor is stained enough by your blood as is.” Banal hissed. Alexius, who had been knocked back from the temporal Rift reopening, moved to sit submissively on his knees. 

“You win. There’s no use extending this charade.” 

Banal paid no attention to him afterwards. He was more concerned with the staff he had ruined. He sighed loudly, digging his nails into the soggy wood. “You would think Harriett would know by now not to use wood…Or to make me a dar’misaan or something…” 

“So…you have fun or something, Smiley?” Varric commented on the flaking blood that seemed to be everywhere. Even the little white spot had flecks of red in it. 

“Oh yes, the future was lovely. It was dark, tasted of despair, and red lyrium was everywhere including inside you, Varric.” Varric’s face dropped. 

“I think you need to make a report…and soon, Smiley. That…doesn’t sound good.” 

"That's an understatement." 

“Well glad that’s over.” Dorian muttered as Inquisition agents led Alexius and Felix away. Then the doors slammed open again. “Or not…” Suddenly the world spun for Banal. His magic had regained its strength and now it battled inside him. Plus his Mark flickered wildly, shooting pain up his arm in pulses. 

The sounds of marching feet and clanking armor dug razors over Banal’s nerves. Solas quickly noted the paleness of the Herald’s face as he grabbed his arm. The Mark was coloring black. They would have to finish their project and soon, the apostate thought as he tried to steady the dark elf. 

Banal’s chest was acting as though he were heaving, his breaths short and quick. He could only think that that little use of power had taken its toll on him. Already he felt hairline fractures appearing under his skin. But mostly it was the damn light of the Mark that was battling the darkness of his heart. Two magics that could not coexist having to share a body was like having an ongoing war inside him. 

He vaguely noted the two shemlen barking at Fiona who was acting very meek and docile. Their voices just drove home the drill in his skull. “Will you two shut up?” He hissed loudly. 

“Uh, Smiley…That’s the king and queen of Ferelden…” Varric winced as the two humans turned their glare to Banal who was looking sicker and sicker. The burn on his face seemed to have gotten worse, or perhaps it just looked that way from the paleness of his skin. Still he had to lean against Solas, which had to make Banal more irritable, which didn’t help the situation. 

Banal snorted, glaring right back at them. “They are shemlen royalty, not mine.” He growled. He dared them to try and make him bow to them. But the human male narrowed his eyes a bit more before muttering that Banal reminded him of a friend. 

“Where are we to go?” Fiona asked in a panic, drawing their attention back to her. 

“You come with us.” Banal’s voice said they had little choice. Fiona turned to him just as he hissed with a pulse coming from his hand. She glowered, though it was tempered with some sort of sympathy. 

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” She asked. Banal looked to Varric. He was the negotiator after all. But the dwarf just shrugged. 

“I’ve met a lot of mages. They can be loyal friends if you let them. Friends who make bad decisions, but still loyal.” He muttered. Well thanks for helping, Banal thought as he glared. He looked to Solas who was trying to keep him from falling over. 

“If we are to close the Breach, we will need their full cooperation. But it is not my decision to make.” 

All eyes were on Banal. How quaint. Allow him to dictate the lives of hundreds. Perhaps he could order them to all walk into the sea and let the current take them? Or jump into lava? Perhaps summon a demon and let it run wild, killing them? He chuckled darkly as every possible thing he could do flashed in his mind. 

But he had been the commander of armies before. He had led nations. He knew better than to show his hand, or to demand something that wouldn’t serve him in the long run. If he were to gain trust, he had to be fair, as much as that made him nearly vomit. And when people think you are giving them freedom that they could not have, they were usually the most steadfast soldiers. 

“You will be allies with the Inquisition.” His face was solemn as he pushed off Solas and began walking for the exit. 

“You will not regret giving us this chance.” Fiona assured him as he nearly reached the door. Banal turned his head towards her to show the dark smile that crept across his face. 

“I know nothing of regret, Enchanter. It shall be interesting to see what you do with freedom that you are given since you squander the freedom that you took.” His voice was strained, but he managed a chuckle. “But, Fiona?” He turned around to her. He held his chin higher, looking down at both her and the others. 

For a moment, everyone saw not the Herald, but some elven king. It was odd to associate those two words together. But even Alistair had to admit, Banal did a better job at giving that holier than thou look than he did. 

“Do remember that I can make the Templars look like saints should you or your followers step out of line.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Even got to throw in a little Dorian/Banal bonding time. It's going to take some work to get them as a couple though. I'm curious to know how you all think it's going to go down, but right now I have no idea myself. 
> 
> Oh and by the way, I understand the basics of my necromancy dribble. I based it on the principles of the first law of thermodynamics: energy is never lost. And the part before that is based on a circuit (cathodes and anodes I do believe but don't quote me, I sucked at those chemistry reactions/vocab). I'm a geek, I know.
> 
> Now I'm off to figure out if Vhena will be a mage or just a warrior! Will be back with In Your Heart Shall Burn (working title is just Burn at the moment.


	13. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banal decides to go to the Forbidden Oasis, and needs to learn teamwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally I was going to do the Envy demon showing up as chapter 13, but for the life of me I cannot think of a good reason for Envy to pop up in Haven. As a result I went with plan B. This? This is plan B.
> 
> P.S. Two things: one is a question, would we like to see what happens during Banal's bath? (it'll probably go in Secrets of the Inquisition and no nothing kinky/smutty happens...sorry...) and two is read the end of the end notes pretty please!

“What were you thinking, turning the mages lose without supervision?” Cullen barked. 

“I was thinking how could I possibly make your lives worse…” Banal rolled his bloody eyes. Adan and Solas had both gone over his wounds, finding about ten bruises and a fractured rib. “Shemlen, let me tell you something about war and allies. You give someone freedom and suddenly they’ll die for you. You take away freedom, even just perceived freedom, and they’ll die to kill you.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Cassandra spoke with a tired voice. “None of us were there, and we cannot second-guess our people now. The Herald’s mission was to gain the mages, and he was successful.” 

Banal snorted as she gave him a sizing up look. As though she didn’t think he was capable of actually getting allies. She had misjudged him a second time it seemed. But she couldn’t shake the feeling he was hiding something from them all. A motive or something… 

“The voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was beginning to enjoy the circular arguments.” Dorian spoke up with a smirk. Cassandra turned to him, obviously not trusting the mage. Just what they needed: another mage. As if Banal’s wildly unstable magic wasn’t enough… 

“All that matters is closing the Breach.” She replied. Banal crossed his arms, eyeing the Tevinter oddly. He wondered what the man was thinking, what he was planning. After all, they were fighting his countrymen. Perhaps he was a double agent? After the Betrayal, Banal wouldn’t allow himself to believe no one had ulterior motives for being here. The Bull was just so kind as to tell him he was a spy. He doubted Dorian would be so kind. 

“Join us, when you are ready. None of this matters without your mark after all.” Cullen’s voice was soft as though spoken with a slight smile. Banal didn’t bother to look; he was too busy studying the human mage. 

“Josephine,” He muttered absently. There was something beneath all the glamour…but what? The man certainly knew how to protect himself from prying magic, but why? “Did you manage what we discussed?” Banal managed to turn his attention to his Ambassador. 

She blinked, “Yes, Herald. My sources tracked the shards to an oasis. A mining company used to be based out of there.” She checked her notes while the others looked at each other. 

“What?” Cullen asked just as Leliana said “Why wasn’t I informed of this little venture?” She was glaring at Josephine who offered a meek smile. Banal wasn’t really paying attention. He concentrating on the word oasis. 

“An oasis? As in a desert?” He asked, eyebrows nearly in his hairline. 

“Yes?” She seemed worried that she said the wrong thing. But the smile that crept out of Banal was one of childish happiness. 

“Ambassador, have I ever told you that you are my favorite shemlen?” Everyone blinked as he laughed. Who would be happy to go to a desert? “Finally no more freezing my elvhen ass off in the Ferelden Frostbacks!” He chuckled. 

“I’m sorry? You are happy to go to a desert?” Dorian cocked an eyebrow. Most people avoided deserts like well like deserts. Hot, dry, no water anywhere deserts. The kind that made your skin start peeling from sheer dryness, and the kind that made your tongue become like sandstone. 

Banal looked at him like it wasn’t odd. “Of course. I lived a desert.” 

Cassandra tried to articulate her bafflement, but the words did not come. Leliana looked at him oddly. For someone who lived in a desert, he was paler than a nug underground… 

“You can’t be seriously thinking about trekking through a desert when we need to wait for the mages?” Cassandra finally got out. Banal rolled his eyes, returning to his usual I hate you all demeanor. 

“I can, and I am.” He hissed. “There’s no point in sitting on _our_ asses while we wait for Fiona to get _her_ ass straight enough to send able mages to us.” His crossed arms told them it was a losing battle to talk him out of it. 

“Forgive me, but we just wish you would include us in your plans, Herald.” Leliana put tactfully. Banal snorted. 

“Perhaps you should have thought about that… _ **before**_ you _**purged**_ me.” His voice made them all jump before he spun around and stalked out of the Chantry, not unlike an Archdemon… 

“Cheery fellow…” Dorian muttered to himself. “So I take it my presence isn’t much of a concern?” He smiled at the four advisors. Josephine had a happily smug smirk that she was trying to hide while the others seemed about ready to kill the little elf. 

Cassandra turned to glare at Dorian. “So long as you don’t add to our problems, Tevinter.” She sighed. 

“Yes because I could add to the large problem bundled inside the form a dark haired elf.” 

***** 

“Herald? A moment if you please.” Minaevae called as she rushed through the gates towards Banal who was getting Din’an’s tack ready. 

He snorted with an amused smile. “If I please? How quaint. As though I hold the ability to force you to not talk…Speak if you must.” He chuckled. The elf apprentice didn’t know him as well as the companions who accompanied him, but she did often find herself asking him for help in research. The amount of things he knew about creatures was astonishing as it was frightening. She respected him, but was still uneasy around him. 

She stopped short of getting into his personal space and took a deep breath. She had to go about this carefully, lest another purging happens…The earring in her hand suddenly felt like a snake. 

“Well? You can still speak can’t you?” Banal looked down his nose at her. She took another breath before meeting his eyes. 

“Solas and I have been researching ways to suppress your magic—“ She started. 

“Suppress?” He cocked an eyebrow. It looked like he had been insulted thoroughly so she hurried to continue. 

“Well your magic gets so wild and out of control that it ends up harming you. We were looking for a way to suppress it enough to…minimize the damage…And hopefully get it under control till we can figure out the cause.” 

Banal’s lips quivered as he tried to hide a smile. As though anything these people created could truly contain his power. His power was destruction, of course it tried to destroy him. You cannot contain a war inside yourself without the war harming you. That was the point. 

“I take it you have a point somewhere.” He managed to keep amusement out of his voice. Minaevae’s hand shook as she held out the golden earring. It was just a simple and small hoop but it was singing with magic. 

“The Tranquils just finished the prototype. I had hoped for you to try it out, see if it works…?” She seemed to be bracing for attack. Banal snorted. 

“You want me to put on an earring that inhibits my powers?” He cocked an eyebrow. If this didn’t smell like Vivienne before, it did now…Yes because any mage outside the Circle could not possibly be able to control their powers… 

“It doesn’t inhibit them. It…” She sighed, trying to think of how the Tranquil described it. “The earring pulses with a magical vibration that _should_ counteract the one that’s inside you.” 

Banal blinked. “So basically neutralizing the magic inside me? How is that not inhibiting?” 

“It shouldn’t. It should push it away from your body, creating a barrier of sorts, weaken it…” She held it out again. “But that’s why we test it, if you’ll put it on.” 

Banal watched her with a cocked eyebrow. Did she really think that theory would work? He knew it wouldn’t. Magic was not a stable force. It constantly changed. So unless the pulses changed to match, eventually his magic would grow tired of that thing and resonate at a frequency that broke it. But… 

He reached out and took it, feeling that pulsing in his fingertips. At least it wasn’t hideous…He thought to himself as he pushed the needle through one of the many holes up his pointed ear. When the circuit closed, he felt a slight jolt as it began humming with an odd magic. 

“Well that could get annoying…” He mumbled, his ears picking up the vibration. He felt it pulse out of sync with his magic. It took away some of it, like trying to push a pendulum out of sync. But then his magic shifted, turning to pulse with the earring. 

“Well? Does it work?” She looked hopeful. Banal held up a finger, waiting as the two resonance began to sync. It was uncomfortable feeling the earring begin to shake. His power began to thicken, become quicker. The jewelry couldn’t handle it. 

First it cracked, then it just shattered. Banal barely winced before rubbing the now bleeding hole. 

“Maker’s breath! What happened?” Minaevae asked. “It wasn’t supposed to explode…” 

Banal laughed darkly. “Magic is a constantly changing force. Its resonance changes, adapting to operate in total sync with the world around it. Thus all you did was amplify my magic by letting it hit the earring’s frequency. The jewelry couldn’t handle it and broke.” He shrugged. 

She rubbed the back of her neck. “And I suppose you knew that would happen?” 

“Of course.” He snorted. 

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” She grumbled. 

“Because you wouldn’t have believed me had you not seen it” He smirked. “You have a good theory, now if you could make an object whose frequency changes quick enough and randomly enough, you might succeed on someone who is not me.” 

She blinked. “Not you? Why not you?” She had the feeling that she was once again in her Circle learning from one of the Enchanters. Only this Enchanter was that one that everyone feared because he was a hard ass. But only because he had mastered the magic a long time ago. 

Banal snickered, dropping his saddle to the ground. “Because my magic would just break it anyway. It’d find some weak spot, perhaps amplify its own frequency to the point that the waves shatter the enchantment.” He shrugged. “Perhaps you should try to create an object that my magic can rest in. Take it out of my body and inside an object.” 

She nodded. That was one of Solas’s suggestions as well. But they decided to try to suppress his magic first, if only to appease Vivienne and Cassandra. Then she looked at him. “You are in an oddly good mood, Herald…” She noted. “You haven’t called me shemlen or anything yet…” 

Banal snorted. “I could, if you wished. But I would much rather start heading for Orlais.” He caught Dennett’s eye as the man lead Din’an out of its corral. The horse was overly docile, but still the spirit didn’t seem to realize it had a sword that could cut someone’s head off. Dennett ducked in time though. Shame. 

“What’s in Orlais? Thought you wanted it to be wiped off the face of the world?” She asked watching him gather his stuff again. 

“A desert with elven temples.” He smiled before walking off. She shook away the shivers that ran up her spine at the comment. Dalish were weirdly fascinated with past things… 

***** 

“Remind me why I let you talk me into going into a Maker forsaken desert, Smiley.” Varric complained through the mask he made out of the bandanna around his neck. Banal smirked, keeping a firm grip on the hood he had over his head. His own mouth was covered by a leather mask he managed to fashion before they entered the desert. It covered his entire nose as well as his jaw. For his neck he had large scarf he would sometimes cast an ice spell over to keep his neck cooler. 

The others of the group had similar garbs on, ones that covered every inch of skin and kept dust from getting into their lungs. Their mounts were left at the last settlement for there would not be enough food for them. Well, Din’an could have survived but Banal missed the shifting sands beneath his feet. 

“I didn’t talk you into anything, durgen’len. You and the others just decided to come along.” He muttered. It was odd seeing him in light colors, but they all saw the necessity of it. As Banal apparently was the most experienced in deserts, they followed his direction completely. Which meant stopping hours before sunrise to set up camps, and going against what their brains said was right. Such as drinking water whenever they felt they wanted some. 

That concern was unfounded because with four mages, their canteens never ran dry for long. The water tasted metallic, but Banal laughed when they asked if the magic that created it would have some odd effects on the non-mages. He replied that Varric was safe, but everyone else? He didn’t know. 

And despite the horrendous temperatures, they were told to keep all clothes on, which were their armors with robes and cloaks on top of them. Most of them were dying of heat as they walked towards the flickering light ahead. Hopefully this would be the end to the desert and they could get to the oasis finally. 

Their bodies were covered in dirt and sweat; Banal tried to keep upwind as much as possible. The shemlen smelt like rotting corpses, Sera in particular was rather rank. And Bull…it reminded him of roasting said rotten corpses. None of those smells were pleasant. He’d be very glad to dunk them all in water. Vivienne and Dorian managed to not sink as bad, but he imagined it was some sort of shemlen perfume… 

“Well, I didn’t think we’d be in some shite sandstorm!” Sera complained loudly. Banal rolled his eyes. 

The moon above them made the desert sands turn to moon dust. It whipped around them, trying to uncover their heads and get sand into uncomfortable areas. The shifting sands beneath his bare feet were normal, he shifting his weight to compensate. The others, however, were having trouble keeping their footing. 

“This is hardly a sandstorm, Sera. Just a light breeze, really.” Banal muttered. 

“What it is, is shite!” She yelled before a gust knocked her sideways. “I mean, I got sand, Herald, in my lady bits, and it’s freakin’ hot! Even at night!” 

“The desert is hot? Really? I couldn’t tell. Ma serannas for the update.” Banal muttered. Ice grew over his clothes underneath the cloak. Magical ice that didn’t melt in the heat and kept his body nice and cool. At the bequest of Dorian, who complained to no end about the dreaded desert, he had showed the other mage the spell if only to shut him up. Varric had caught him so of course the dwarf got his own little slice of Banal’s spell. 

The rest? Well, let’s say it was punishment in part for purging him (at least for Cassandra and Vivienne). The others, well, if they didn’t notice then that was their stupidity. Banal grinned under his mask. He kept his eyes focused on the firelight ahead. 

Then the breeze blew from that direction, the southwest. He stopped and brought down his mask for a moment. They stood above the little camp on a dune. His elven eyes could see canyons below, which was a good sign. Canyons were formed by water after all. He even smelt water, blood lotus, and spindleweed. But he also felt his Mark pulse. He hissed while pulling back his hood and looking around. 

Cassandra was about to ask him what was wrong, but then she saw the glow of his mark. All of them went into alert then. Their eyes scanned for the telltale sign of a Rift. It wasn’t hard to find. In some dusty old ruins not too far from the camp they were trying to reach, there it was. Banal sighed loudly. “I’ll go close it.” He sounded so frustrated, like a child being told to pick up their room. 

“I will—“ He stopped Blackwall’s announcement with a hand gesture. 

“Please, any of you fight on shifting sands? You can barely walk on it.” He snorted pulling up his mask again. “Just give me a sword and I’ll handle it.” 

“Herald with all due respect, I think it’s time you learned to trust us.” Blackwall’s voice was gruff and some emotion Banal could not place. Anger? No, his soul wasn’t dark enough for that at the moment. He reached out with his magic and searched along the crevices of the Warden’s heart. He found regret, but that wasn’t pertaining to now. He skirted the edges more. Concern and a need to be trusted. 

Banal looked to the others, or at least the ones that didn’t have tight barriers. All were upset apparently at Banal’s inability to let anyone help. They wouldn’t help. They’d get in the way. But that little white streak, that had grown since returning from Redcliffe, flared brightly at all such feelings. His insides however felt like they were on fire once more. He sneered, but the expression was lost under his mask. 

“The Warden has a point, Smiley. We all to some varying degree have to trust you.” Well that’s ironic. Putting trust in the being who would rather cause your ultimate doom… “The least you could do is put some faith in us.” Varric shrugged. Banal could tell the dwarf was smiling that charming smile. “If only enough not to get in your way while you massacre hosts of demons.” 

“Fine, follow if you must.” He muttered gruffly before turning and shifting his weight just so to make the sand beneath his feet begin to slide. The others tried the same technique to some success. Mostly they fell on their asses making Banal roll his eyes and sigh loudly. 

To say Banal was completely ignorant of working with a team…would be an understatement. For once the elf didn’t really know what to do with this many people. The warriors rushed ahead of him, instantly drawing attention to themselves. The two rogues fired off arrows/bolts and the three other mages cast their spells a safe distance away. Solas and Vivienne kept everyone pretty much covered with barriers while Dorian kept the demons contained in one area with a well placed Static Cage. 

And Banal literally stood to the side and watched. His mind categorized each style of fighting. Bull’s was crude and focused on hitting as hard as possible, damn dodging. Blackwall’s was more defensive, taunting and ensuring the rest of the party didn’t have their hands full. Cassandra was similar but she focused on individual targets with an intense focus of a storm. 

As for the rogues. Varric was good at picking opportunities and setting up traps. Sera’s style was just a wild chaos of jumps and flips and poison. Solas spent most of his time with barriers and glyphs (which either Cassandra or Blackwall would get an enemy to set off) while Vivienne would block off certain areas of the field as well as freeze certain opponents to limit the amount they had to deal with. Dorian primarily used lightning to shock, trap, or paralyze many opponents at once, setting up critical hit moments. 

“You know, Smiley, I said to let us help, not let us do everything!” Varric yelled. Banal snorted to himself. The Rift kept shooting out demons, not to mention it had apparently been there awhile because there were quite a few originally. 

But Banal didn’t really notice how many demons were dead. It was merely fascinating to watch these strangers cooperate with each other so easily. His magic wouldn’t allow for it. 

He could feel it ripping and tearing to get out. The Mark was trying to connect to the Rift as though searching for a long lost piece of itself. But where could it go with this many people? And his fire magic against a rage demon and a few fire wraiths? That was pointless. 

“Oi! Lord Magesty Herald! Get off your arse and help!” Sera yelled as she jumped away from a Terror’s claws. 

“If the Herald doesn’t believe he can fight, let him sit this one out, my dear. It would be easier on us all.” Vivienne spoke in her calm voice as she iced the Terror in place. Anger flared inside Banal at the comment. 

His magic, already chomping at the bit, flashed out of him in a sea of flames. Under the roar of the flames he could hear Varric yelling, “Shit, Iron Lady! We need him to help, not fry us!” 

The influx of magic drew the demons’ attention to him. Suddenly it didn’t matter how the warriors taunted, they focused on the flaming elf. Great. Perfect. Marvelous. The warriors struggled to take down as many as they could but still the amount of shades sliding towards Banal who had yet drawn his staff… 

Banal snorted to himself, letting anger color his world. The night brightened into a warm sepia tone almost as his adrenaline gave him those bloody instincts to kill. The sand beneath him lit up. Almost in slow motion the Terror shoved Banal into the sky, tossing the elf up like a rag doll. 

He twisted in midair, angling so his head was towards the ground, arm outstretched. Fire and sand twisted in his palm. The magic fire heated and compressed the sand into little shards of glass that he then made explode toward the demon. Tiny bits cut through the demon while the fire panicked it. 

Banal’s smile was unseen as he turned himself as he began falling. His magic wrapped itself around his legs as he landed like a cat. Sand and air went flying from his impact, shockwaves knocking some shades back. But his legs didn’t feel a thing. 

A rage demon charged him then. He ducked and slid away from its fiery claws. His peripheral vision showed that the others were hacking away on the shades and wraiths, leaving the Rage and Terror to him. Banal struck out with his own claws, hacking at the molten body with little success. The Terror came to, moving closer to attack him again. 

Just as the Terror struck, the Rage called fire beneath Banal’s feet. All that could be heard was a flutter of cloth. A few who could risk it, turned in time to see Banal jumping backwards a great distance, his feet glowing the color of magic. That glow pulsed out when he hit the ground, now minus a cloak, his braid suspended like a scorpion’s tail from the odd magic before it fell. 

Finally he drew his staff, lightning flickering from its tip. Banal straightened, giving a few spins to his staff. The Rage reared up, gathering magic around it. Vivienne and Solas, having dealt with most of the wraiths, both froze it. Banal ran forward, gathering magic in his legs again. He jumped, angling his staff so the blade slammed through the frozen Rage with all of his weight behind it. His teeth rattled a bit as he hit the ground. Molten stuff stuck to his staff as he whirled around. 

That left the Terror. Blackwall and Cassandra were keeping it occupied while Bull finished up with the shades. He struck out with his staff, flinging both balls of electricity and rage gunk. But then it sunk into the ground and didn’t immediately emerge. Terrors were like that, well most weak willed demons were like that. They liked to hide and wait. 

All of them watched the ground, the mages feeling with their power for any sense of the thing. But mostly they just felt Banal; his power was pushing through the ground, coiling in the air. It wasn’t visible, which made it very strange. Dorian filed it away for later just as Banl’s head snapped to where Blackwall stood. 

He felt a tiny little pulse there, like a drop had fallen into a pool. His magic condensed around the area. Sure enough he felt tree-like limbs under the sand there.

Without much thought, Banal poured magic into the sand beneath the warrior’s feet. With a swift pulling motion, the sand slide back just as the demon shot up in the air. Blackwall was obviously confused as he started to move, but he quickly focused back on the demon. 

Dorian struck it with a lightning bolt, so Bull could join the others hacking away at it as it seized. Banal snorted and turned to the Rift. When the Terror gave one finally shriek and slid back into the hole in the air, Banal closed it quickly. He hissed shaking his fingers. 

Pain was sparking up his arm again, like a sword had pierced his hand and was now splitting his arm in half. His magic was getting too powerful to tolerate that Traitor’s magic much longer…He hoped Minaevae would have that solution soon. 

For now, Banal went to retrieve his cloak only to find most of it a charred mess. “That demon owes me a cloak…” He muttered letting his magic burn it completely. 

“I say that demon did all the world a favor by getting rid of that tacky thing, dear.” Vivienne muttered. She of course was cloaked in fine Orelsian silks with embroidery and other nonsense. Banal rolled his eyes, but had to agree. After all that thing was some odd pastel version of orange. 

“As much as I loathe you Enchanter, I have to agree with you on that.” He muttered. He faked gagging, “Pardon me, I now have to go vomit those words away.” He got a few snickers out of the group. 

“Mock as you will, darling, but even you have to admit those clothes you allowed them to adorn you in are the most hideous things I’ve had the displeasure of seeing.” Vivienne kept her neutral face, but Banal snorted in agreement. 

But it wasn’t like he was going to say that…again. Her ego was big enough. “Garas, the sun is rising and I want to be near shade when it does.” He started for the camp again. He heard Vivienne and Bull talking (she upwind from him of course) about jeweled eye patches as they hit the camp. 

Scout Harding quickly briefed him as he entered the camp before they got to sit down and eat. After tending to their equipment anyway. Banal took the time to shake out his scarf, take off the other robes, and walk around. Everyone was happy that the breeze coming out of the canyon was cool. 

Banal however was paying attention to the threatening magic located around the temple. Even from their clifftop camp, he could feel its menacing presence. He knew it was harmless. Most Elvhen temples used that sort of enchantment to keep the unworthy out. Banal? He used about six different trials, winding hallways, traps, and his throne room to weed those out. If you survived the first three, and got to his throne room, you would be considered worthy…to a point. 

He played around with the Oculara while everyone chatted about something. He rolled his eyes, spying another shard not too far from their camp. 

“Hey, Smiley! You gonna eat?” Varric called. 

“No, I lost my appetite smelling you all.” He quipped, still searching through the skull. “Hurry up and eat so I can go drown you shemlen.” 

“Ouch!” Bull laughed. Banal turned around to find the group looking down at him. He felt it, their pleasure at fighting well as a team, their happiness to get a bath and whatnot. But mostly he felt their apparent happiness at him fighting with them. 

“Quit your staring.” He growled. His arm pulsed with pain, right through the shoulder this time as his insides boiled. For a moment he really did think he was going to vomit. “Or I’ll pluck your eyeballs out.” 

Varric chuckled to himself. “You don’t change do you?” 

“People don’t change, Varric. Now eat, so we can go find something that could take away your shemlen stink.” 

***** 

“So, ma’am,” Bull started uneasily. Banal always found it fascinating how a Qunari as large as Bull could be intimidated and manipulated so easily by Vivienne. He got the sense that Bull remembered some other woman in his life that was like her, and it brought back the childish pawn. Or something like that. The horned giant was nothing but this twisted and tangled mesh of doctrines and darkness. It actually gave Banal a headache when he tried to sift through it all. 

“Yes, darling?” Vivienne cooed as they were walking in the canyons. They’d yet to hit water, but Banal could smell it. And hear a waterfall somewhere. 

“What would you dress our dear Herald in?” 

“What the hell kind of question is that, Bull?” Banal spun to the Qunari with a glare mixed with a confused look. The Qunari got a smirk on his face. 

“The kind used to see your reaction, boss?” 

“And why would that matter to you?” Banal eyed him suspiciously. Dorian tried to hide a snicker as did Blackwall and Varric. The sight of this tiny elf trying to glare the horns off a Qunari was a sight to behold. 

Bull shrugged. “Everything is useful in some situation or another.” 

“Red with black and gold accents. Something regal perhaps, but something that didn’t mire his elven figure in too much cloth. Fur or maybe feathers on one of the shoulders. Some gold jewelry to accent his ears and a nice leather boot to tie it altogether.” Vivienne muttered as she stared hard at the elf. Banal straightened under her gaze, watching her as though awaiting some attack. 

“The day I wear boots, is the day the Maker shows up in Haven.” Banal snorted before turning around and continuing towards the eerie feeling. 

***** 

“So Smiley, mind if we ask you a few questions?” Varric asked as all the males sat about the Intrinsic Pool camp. The women (all three of them) decided they’d rather take a bath first than have a meal. Thus, the remaining men all sat around the fire eating roasted hyena that the scouts had killed earlier in the day. 

Well Banal was mostly trying not to pay attention to the dull whisperings made by one of those damnable keys. The fact that he had untouched meat in front of him, said he either wasn’t hungry or he was irritable. Varric assumed the latter, and thus made sure to ease into conversation. 

“Yes.” Banal growled, beginning to rub at the headache the others were causing. They were so damn happy. Hearts full of satisfaction and mirth, it was sickening. It was too bright, too light, and too white. He could almost feel his growing white streak pulsating in their joy. 

“Oh come now, Smiley. They are just questions; they aren’t Druffalo or that Rage Demon pretending to be a ram or anything.” Varric chuckled. Banal rolled his eyes. 

“What is the point of asking me questions, Varric?” 

“Just trying to make you seem like a person and not some obscure idol.” 

Banal thought about that for a moment. He had not been an idol before. He always had a physical hand in his followers’ lives. They begged and pleaded for him to take them, they competed for his favor, and they all long for the darkness only he could give. None save his priests and priestesses knew him personally, and even then the most personal they got was how to fuck him properly. 

The idea of these…mortals wanting to know he was a person…was baffling. Banal narrowed his eyes at the dwarf. There had to be some ulterior motive behind this. Another purge perhaps? Find his weakness? What? What was the point of knowing him? 

“Perhaps it is best I stay an object, Varric.” He hissed quietly. 

“I don’t know, I think it would be quite enlightening to hear the dwarf’s questions. No one else seems to get you to talk.” Dorian muttered. He was the only one that was using actual eating utensils to eat the charred pieces of meat. And it was apparent he did not like the meal at all as he nearly had to choke down most of it. 

Banal rolled his eyes. “You can ask, I don’t guarantee I answer.” He muttered since no one was going to let this go. He vaguely noticed the women returning to the camp, meaning he could in all actuality leave and begin to scrub the ten layers of dust from his hair. But Varric was already settling back and gauging him. 

“Alright, let’s see…How about how old are you?” Varric decided to go for the easy questions first. 

“Old enough, next.” 

Varric laughed at the glare he got. “My someone’s touchy about their age…” Vivienne noted as she took her usual seat near Cassandra, keeping the Seeker between her and Banal. 

“I said next.” Banal’s growl made Dorian’s neck hairs stand on end. It was like watching the Black Divine assassinate that man again…only with words… 

“Where’d you learn magic?” Solas asked quietly. The apostate had kept his distance from the much darker elf, but with the Mark becoming more and more unstable the two had to often suffer each other’s company. What was surprising was that Banal had a vast amount of knowledge, which set triggers off in Solas’s mind. While it was refreshing to have academic conversations about the uses of magic and ways to manipulate the Fade, the sheer amount he knew told Solas one of two things: Banal was a Dreamer that often talked to spirits, or Banal had a deeper secret than any could fathom. 

“Here and there.” Banal snorted, he was looking around like he was trying to find some excuse to leave. 

“You know, the point of questions is to get to know the person, not vague answers.” Blackwall noted. 

Banal turned that glare to the Warden. “I said you could ask questions, not that I’d answer them.” 

“Fair enough.” Blackwall eyed the Herald suspiciously. Perhaps he wasn’t the only with a past to hide from…By the way Banal was always looking around the camp, like he was suspecting someone to jump him, it wasn’t a hard leap to make. Of course, Blackwall would be watching everyone and everything if he had gotten tricked into a spell purge… 

“If you’re not Dalish, then where are you from?” Cassandra asked as she cut herself a piece of the canine. 

“I told you a desert.” 

“There are many deserts, Herald.” She probed. 

Banal growled in his throat. “It didn’t have name you’d know.” Both of them narrowed their eyes in a challenge. 

“Try us.” 

His eyes searched hers for a moment longer. “Banal’rasan” He saw that damnable stubborn in her that told him she would not drop it until he gave her something. Much like a dog with a bone…Or a Dragon with gold… 

“Place of Shadows?” Solas inquired. It sounded so familiar but for the life of him he could not place it. Like the memory had been erased from all of creation. 

“Yes, problem, Pride?” Banal gave him a glare that said to be quiet. 

“I just have never heard of such a place, Herald.” Solas covered. 

“Any other inane questions or can I take my—“ 

“What’s your daughter’s name?” Varric interrupted. Banal’s face looked like he had just been slapped. Everyone looked to the dwarf and then back at the elf, bewilderment across their faces. Dorian choked a bit on his meal. 

“I’m sorry, you have a daughter?” He sputtered out. 

“Indeed I find it hard to believe a woman could tolerate you long enough to give you a child, let alone be your wife.” Vivienne kept her voice a quiet mockery as the Herald narrowed his eyes. 

“Fenedhis lasa, why does everyone assume that I have a wife? Just because a woman gives birth to my child doesn’t make her my wife!” He hissed. His eyes glared at the varying degrees of amusement and bafflement. Again their white pulsed inside him like a white hot sticker. 

“So no wife?” Bull snorted, “Never pegged you as that kind of guy, boss.” The Qunari laughed as Banal rolled his eyes. 

“Trust me when I say I’ve been very chaste while in the Inquisition.” His tone said he wished it weren’t the case. Bull got that the Herald was frustrated in many senses of the word. But with this little bit of information, it suddenly explained much of the dark elf’s stick up his ass. 

“I take it you have other children then.” Blackwall threw out there. Banal met his gaze evenly, a smirk playing along his lips. He could see Blackwall had spent his fair share in brothels and bedding bar maids. 

“I’ve had others, yes. All my sons are dead, though.” His tone had a note of finality to it. 

“Hey, hey, I asked the first question,” Varric interjected. “I think I deserve to be answered at least.” 

Banal looked at each one of them. They all seemed intent on hearing, on prodding him for information. Some were curious others amazed. Vivienne was feigning interest as usual and Sera was too busy shoving her face full of food to really care. But the others…His heart actually twitched and spasmed under the intense feeling of good-natured curiosity. 

He winced before looking back at the smirking dwarf. It was like he knew he had made Banal uncomfortable. The Herald stood quickly, taking a defensive posture as he walked a little ways to the edge of their hill. 

“Vhena. Ma da'vhenen...” He muttered to the night. It was like he was whispering a prayer almost. He felt the others watching him as he crossed his arms and searched the Cliffside for things of interest. Oculara, landmarks, minerals, anything to take his mind away from the dull ache in his chest. 

“Heart.” Solas murmured in the background. 

“So was she like you, Smiley? Or was she more like her mother?” 

Banal snorted to himself. “The only that was like me was her eyes.” Slowly he turned around to look at the dwarf. He took a deep breath, pushing that pain away. “She was clingy. From the time that she was babe and could hold something in her hands, she had a hold of my hair. Even when she began to walk, she’d hold my braid in her vise grip and tug on it when I went too fast. And by the Void, she loved to talk; at times I regretted teaching her such a skill. When she got older, she loved to gossip. She painted the walls with her imagination, could make any plant grow, and knew more stories than you, Varric. She would have liked you.” 

With the night descending, the sounds of crickets and other night creatures came alive in the silence between them. They had never seen the Herald become so vulnerable, never heard his voice without bite nor growl. It was a shock, but a pleasant one. 

“So what? Where is she now? Kickin it with the Dalish?” Sera asked. Banal sighed softly. Tension again found its way into his stance as he shifted his weight. 

“Does it matter?” 

“It apparently matters to you, boss.” Bull noted as the Herald seemed about ready to bolt. _Just leave it be_ He growled in his head. There was an unknown ache in his chest, a dull thud. Let that memory stay dead… 

“She was poisoned.” Banal’s voice was almost as dead as he was beginning to feel. “By people very close to me.” 

“Shit…” Varric muttered under his breath. Cassandra actually gasped as her eyes got wide. She could understand suddenly why he would not let her own misjudgment go. 

“So she’s dead?” Dorian asked gently when no one else seemed to have their minds in the right place. He felt pity for the man, but couldn’t help but compare him to his father. His father wouldn’t care if his blood ritual had wiped Dorian Dorian away. Banal sighed loudly. 

“I don’t know.” 

Blackwall furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “How could you not know if your daughter was dead?” It seemed rather heartless, to him. 

Banal looked to the side, towards the now silvery pool. “When I left her side, she was still breathing. But I know that poison. There was no chance for her to survive, but I was not there, so I don’t know.” 

“Why weren’t you there while she was _dying_?” Blackwall glared at the elf who had respected. All of them were wondering the same thing. What kind of man would leave his daughter to die? 

Banal glared back as though he knew what he was being accused of. “Those who did it to her…they fled. I hunted every last bastard down, and I slaughtered them like pigs.” His voice began its usual growl, only this one was far more dangerous. His eyes flashed wickedly. “And when I was finished…I was drawn into a war and severely injured. In all technicalities I should be dead. Next thing I knew I was waking up to Clan Lavellan and now I have a mark on hand.” 

His Mark flashed to emphasis his point that everything had stacked against him. Silence spread around the camp as Banal tied to push away the memory. Blood shouldn’t have stained her white. But it did; he could see flashes of it each time he blinked. He could still feel the sword pushing through his stomach, could hear Falon’Din’s cries and whispers. He remembered pain the most. The kind that there were no words to describe. 

“Now if we are done prying into my life, I would like to wash away the ten layers of dirt I have caked on me.” He hissed as he turned to head for the pools. One of the agents handed him a small satchel as he walked passed her. 

He climbed up to the pool before he looked inside. A few soaps and a comb lay there along with a small cloth. He sighed to himself and undressed, hoping to soak the memories away. He ended up not noticing the time and getting some unwelcomed shemlen company. Both of them kept to their selves, save for some teasing about the Herald's lack of swimming abilities. 

By the time, they returned to camp, Banal found himself watching the shemlen more...and avoiding sleep like it would kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to self: Banal holds grudges for a REALLY long time... Also come back and edit the ending someday that is not tonight...
> 
> For those who still want to see the Envy demon try to screw with Banal, fret not! I have a plan! Plan C...it's happening...Just not soon...
> 
> Can't wait until I finally get Cole! I have so many things planned for him! Next chapter will be the In Your Heart Shall Burn quest (which was supposed to be this one but I like going to the Forbidden Oasis after getting my allies.)
> 
> Also THANK YOU SO MUCH! Hit 2000+ hits and 150+ kudos sometime this week! And Of Peacocks and Wolves finally got its 100th kudo. So I was thinking about doing a giveaway of sorts... But I don't know since I'm only good with writing with my own characters so it'd be more like you give me a prompt for Falon/Banal and I write you something as a gift...
> 
> Don't know. If you have an opinion, let me know! Please and Thank You!


	14. Beyond Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more fluffy flashbacks, some cannibalistic talk with Banal's priestesses and priest, and Corypheus...We got a God-Being vs God-Wannabe showdown...Buckle down, this is going to be a long ride...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so we are a little heavy on the flashbacks, but I blame how I ended the last chapter. The first flashback was supposed to be the ending Chpt 13, but it was already too long, so it got put here. And then the others well...we get to see some fluff and smut... I think I deserve an applause ( I can't write that stuff so I apologize.).
> 
> Some suggestive themes ahead. And some minorly disturbing conversation topics...
> 
> Used two prompts from putthepromptsonpaper.tumblr: How old are you? "that's rude"...and the eye for an eye comment.
> 
> Read the end notes for a link to the concept art of the priestesses/priest!

_”…and when I came back, he was gone! So I don’t think he was quite as dead as I thought…” Vhena chatted happily, her voice like never ending laughter. Falon’Din chuckled to himself as he sipped the tea she had made. Vhena drank a bit herself before continuing, “I never did find him…”_

 _“How could you lose a full grown man with a dissected arm?” Falon’Din watched as she gave a sheepish look._

 _

“Well, quite easily…I think some of the followers might have killed him and maybe ate him?” 

“Are you still talking?” Her father’s voice echoed off the walls. Both of them looked to the entrance of the little garden swamp to find Banal with his usual apathetic look on his face. But what struck Falon’Din the most was the robes. He had remembered seeing him in them when Elgar’nan defeated him, but this was somehow different. They weren’t different of course. Still the Creator felt his chest flutter a bit, and words like regal, and downright sexy came to his mind. He didn’t even mind the skull crown. 

Vhena’s giggle brought him back to the real world. “You are making calf eyes…” She giggled making Falon’Din turn to glare at her, a slight blush on his cheeks. “It’s adorable. Why can’t you make such eyes, Papae? Falon’Din is handsome enough for them.” 

“Because to do so would torch my insides and sunder my very soul.” Banal hissed with a roll of said eyes. Vhena waved the comment away. 

“To what do we owe the lord of the ruin gracing us with his presence?” Falon’Din mocked. He found he could get away with such things so long as Vhena was there to chuckle or laugh. He didn’t think he’d live long if he tried elsewhere. Which brought up an excellent point: would they return to their previous roles of slave and god? Somehow looking at how Banal strode towards him, very much a king, told him the answer was no. 

“Time for you to leave.” 

Falon’Din blinked at the hostile glare. “Any particular reason?” 

“Aside from me wanting you gone?” 

“Papae!” Vhena chastised. She glared with a little pout, hands on her hips as she sat crossed-legged in her little chair. Banal barely acknowledged she had spoken. 

“Your followers will begin to wonder where you went. And I will not risk them finding my eluvian, now leave.” With the last word, Banal yanked the Creator to his feet and began dragging him away. 

“Can he come back?” Vhena called as she scurried to her feet. 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t want Creators knocking on my door. You let one in and sudden they swarm like locust.” 

“Hey, Falon’Din is far better than locust.” Vhena huffed but she hung back as her father lead the Creator out of her space. She quietly crept so she could observe without being noticed…by Falon’Din at least. Her father of course would know she was spying on him and his boyfriend. Little did her father know she had crafted her own little plan. 

“So your daughter is…quite a handful isn’t she?” Falon’Din muttered as he started to be pulled towards the throne room. 

“She is a pain.” Banal growled with a roll of his eyes. 

“Now, now, she’s not a pain…” 

“I congratulate you on not strangling her after two hours of her talking.” Falon’Din laughed, though he wasn’t sure if Banal was joking or not. They stopped at the eluvian behind his throne. Banal glared at the Creator who quickly lost his grin. 

“Any chance of you coming back?” He asked quietly. For reasons he could not fathom himself, the Guide did not want to return alone. Somehow his bed would seem empty; though he knew Banal would take it as a ploy to get him away from his source of power, Falon’Din still had to ask. The other elf narrowed his eyes. 

“And be murdered a second time? No. Now leave.” He hissed motioning with his eyes towards the now shimmering black mirror. Falon’Din studied him a moment, taking a step into his personal space. Before Banal could shove him back, the slightly smaller man placed his mouth with his own. It was soft and slow, a steady hand holding his head in place. Falon’Din waited until he felt Banal relax to move his hand to his jaw. 

Just to prove he wasn’t happy, Banal bit Falon’Din’s lip which only made the Creator chuckle into the kiss. When they broke, Banal was glaring while Falon’Din got his grin back. “Well you know where to find me if you change your mind.” He kept his voice low and sultry. 

“Do not try to seduce me. I invented seduction.” Banal growled. He wouldn’t deny he was aroused, that he wanted to shove the Creator against the wall if only to get rid of the odd soft tingle on his lips. 

“I doubt that. Even you can’t be that old.” 

Then a girlish giggle brought both of them looking to the side. Vhena got a wide-eyed look before she yelped and ran off from her father’s murderous glare. Falon’Din chuckled lightly before turning his best alluring grin to the Forgotten One. Banal remained unimpressed. 

“Leave before my daughter gets the idea that I like you in her head.” 

“Well I’d say you like me.” Those garnet eyes motioned downwards. Banal sighed loudly. “I could help you with that.” 

Banal gave a pity amused smirk at the man who was quite literally like a child to him trying to seduce him. It was funny. Like watching a teenager try to convince someone to have sex with him. “I have people for that, Creator.” Banal moved so Falon’Din was between him and the mirror. 

“I bet none could—“ Banal pushed him through the glass and slammed the eluvian closed. For the love of decay…He took a breath trying to ignore that heat rising in his stomach. 

“Well he was cute.” Vhena chuckled as she peeked around the corner again. Banal growled loudly. “But question, Papae, isn’t he like centuries younger than you?” 

He turned an uninterested glare to her. Slowly she crept out of her hiding spot and went to stand by her father, hands behind her back. “Does that really matter, Vhena?” 

“No, not really when you’re immortal…but how old are you exactly?” She tried to bat her long eyelashes at him; sadly cuteness was lost on him. 

“That’s rude, Vhena.” 

“Oh come on, Papae, you can’t be that old…” 

Banal rolled his eyes, “Older than I look.”

_

***** 

Banal woke with a start as the horse beneath him lurched forward. For a moment lightning covered his skin, sparking and arching off him as he shook himself awake. The mounts nearer him all shied away, their riders having trouble keeping them under control as he rolled his shoulders. 

“Bad dream, Herald?” Cassandra asked. Banal blinked, noting Din’an’s reins were in her hands. She was looking back at him as her horse tried not to get sliced. She had noticed Banal nodding off, which was good since he hadn’t slept since reaching the Oasis and that was five days ago. But it was also bad because she knew from experience that falling asleep on a horse meant falls and the mount wandering off. 

Banal snorted in response. “How long was I asleep?” He asked before a yawn took him. The look he gave was like the motion offended him. 

“Just about an hour or so.” Solas commented from his position to the right. His Hart would not come within ten feet of Din’an; some of the other mounts would come closer and thus their formation was based on who’s beast of burden could ride near Banal and his undead unicorn… Cassandra’s horse was as well trained as its rider, allowing for her to guide Banal if and when he fell asleep. 

“Next time shock me or freeze me…” He muttered. 

“You haven’t slept since the Oasis, Smiley.” Varric cut in. 

“And probably won’t get any sleep once we get back to Haven.” Dorian remarked with a slightly amused tone. Banal turned in his saddle to glare at the two. Both just smiled and shrugged. 

“We figured you deserved a few hours of beauty rest.” 

Banal snorted again. “Please, I’m Elvhen, I do not need rest to be beautiful…unlike the rest of you…” Some of them laughed, but others just rolled their eyes as the Herald rubbed at his eyes. 

They rode a little while in silence, Banal fighting to keep himself awake. He knew the memories that came next and he did not want to relive them. Once was enough for him. 

“So, we were just taking bets on who’d win in a fight: Leliana, Cassandra, or Josephine. Care to weigh in?” Dorian moved his horse so Banal didn’t have to strain his neck to look at him. He gave an amused smirk at the elf. He found it funny how absolutely dead the Herald looked. Well more than usual. Someone was not a morning person… 

“The Ambassador? Why not the Shemlen Commander?” He asked with a cocked eyebrow. 

“They just keep Curly around to look pretty.” Varric managed to get his pony mule thing closer to Banal, though the animal bleated loudly. Fire lit inside Banal’s skull. One more noise like that and Varric was going to have to ride double with Sera. 

Cassandra groaned loudly as Banal contemplated his choices. Josephine was far too polite and weak hearted to fight. She would probably lecture on how it was wrong to fight people rather than gouge someone’s eyes out. Leliana was a skilled archer and a rogue making sneak attacks all the more deadly. Cassandra on the other hand was a skilled warrior who had fought dragons before…Hmmm… 

“I’ll go with the Seeker, only because the other two haven’t fought dragons with nothing but a sword before…” Banal replied, eyeing the woman as she looked back at him baffled. 

“You…have heard that story?” She asked warily. 

“What I heard was an overgrown garden of wild tales about you, but every garden has its seed and I assume there were dragons as they were about the only common thread save for you in all the stories.” 

“Thank the Maker for your distrust…” She muttered. 

“I’m shocked you’d choose the Seeker,” Varric laughed. Banal rolled his eyes. What was he blind? Anyone who could kill a dragon would win in a fight against any who hadn’t. Leliana may have accompanied the Warden to kill the dragon guarding the Sacred Ashes, but she had a bumbling warrior, a spirit healer, and the Warden herself. Cassandra had herself and maybe some mages who didn’t help much apparently. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Varric, I’m still going to feed her to the next giant we come across,” Banal paused for Cassandra to snort, “but she is capable of killing a dragon where the other two are not.” 

“You do realize Sister Leliana helped defeat the Blight?” Cassandra asked. 

“Defeat the Blight? No, she just helped the Warden who defeated the Blight. There’s a difference. Plus I didn’t hear of the Shemlen Spy striking down a High Dragon with her arrows.” 

“He’s got a point, Seeker. From what I was told, it was Tabris who was the Dragon slayer of the group…well her and that drunken dwarf…” 

***** 

Banal’s head snapped up again. His startling awakes were becoming more and more frequent. The mages all could tell the Fade was pulling at him. Dorian almost felt bad for the man. If his dreams were bad enough for him to keep himself awake, Dorian would keep his own demon filled dreams thank you very much. 

“Perhaps we should set camp?” Dorian suggested as the Herald resituated himself in the saddle. His own bum had gone numb hours ago and certain body bits would love to get off this horse who seemed quite happy to trot them off…Dorian was quite thankful he didn’t want children nor would have them anyway… 

They’d been riding most of the day, eating in the saddle, only stopping for pissing breaks and to let the horses get water and food. All of them were weary from the grueling three days on the road. First through the desert (again) and now they were slowly making their way back to Val Royeaux so they could finally return to Haven… 

“Do you want to get to Haven sooner or later?” Banal barked. His voice was strained, and little not all there. He felt his entire body shutting down. At times the world would leave him only to rush back like it was playing that stupid tag game Vhena—He jerked his mind away quickly. 

“Herald, you need rest if you are to close the Breach.” Solas chastised. After learning just a fragment of his past, most of them felt more at ease, more pity, more compassion towards the man they had all previously thought a heartless bastard. Now they could find an excuse for it. And Banal regretted every bit of it… 

“I am not some child refusing to go to sleep, Pride.” Even as he spoke he could feel Sleep touching his mind. He shook it away just as Cassandra snatched his reins from his hands. 

“Make camp.” She ordered, bringing them to a stop. There was a collective groan of relief. 

“Oh, my arse!” Sera whined as she all but flopped off her horse. “ I can’t feel my arse.” 

“And here I thought I was the dramatic one…” Dorian muttered. 

“Darling the only thing that is dramatic about you is your sense of self-worth.” Vivienne gracefully dismounted her Orelsian horse, though her back was overly stiff and Banal could easily tell everything was sore on her. 

His magic was even sore. It was sluggish through his body, not wanting to move from sheer exhaustion. Still he managed a wry smirk as he called out, “Now, Enchanter, I wouldn’t say that to the Tevinter.” The two turned to him. Dorian with a confused look and Vivienne with a look of passive disdain. “If I had to choose between the two of you who I fed to say a pride demon, I’d chose you Enchanter.” Banal fluttered his eyelashes as Vhena did when she was showing her dislike for something with a smile. 

“Ah, but you still chose me over him, my dear.” Vivienne noticed. Banal gave a dark chuckle, his expression becoming that of her greatest nightmares: a patronizing smile turned dark. 

“If only to see how long it’d take you to succumb to the demon and turn into a hideous abomination, madam. It will be like watching as a little sore festers and blackens, that demon clawing away inside you, you becoming a prisoner in your own body. I happen to like the Tevinter more. I’d feed him to a dragon.” 

Dorian wasn’t sure what was more disturbing: his little wound talk or that Banal liked him which meant he was fed to a dragon…He wasn’t sure he’d ever figure it out. He supposed being fed to a dragon was better than being used as bait for a pride demon…Still from the wicked glares shooting from the two mages’ eyes, he got the sense there was some bad blood in this merry little family…Ah reminded him of home it did. 

“Just a guess, but you two don’t see eye to eye I take it?” Dorian muttered, stepping back as he was afraid once the Herald dismounted fire was going to fly. Varric walked to his side, making a cutting motion at his neck. “What?” 

“We don’t mention it…” The dwarf whispered. Banal could still hear them of course, his ears weren’t large and pointed for nothing after all. He dismounted, his head swimming for a moment as his feet hit the ground. 

“It? It what?” Dorian grumbled. Could the dwarf be any vaguer? 

“Well, the Iron Lady may or may not have convinced the Seeker, Nightingale, and Curly that the Herald was possessed by a demon…And that may or may not have lead to Smiley getting spell purged…” 

“Oh my, I can see why he hates her then.” Dorian blinked. Suddenly he remembered the burns the Herald had when they went to Redcliffe. The Altus had heard of the abilities of Southern Templars, but if a simple spell purge could do that to Banal… 

“I don’t hate her.” Banal growled. “Believe me when I say if I hated her she’d be walking inside out right now.” 

“And threatening to shove a pride demon in her is what? Your version of a friendly gift?” Dorian cocked an eyebrow as the Herald chuckled darkly. 

“This? This is annoyance.” 

“Well, remind me never to get on your bad side, Boss.” Bull muttered as he walked passed. The little elf gave him the creeps. It was like a Tamarassan mixed with a dragon mixed with a Saarebas mixed with an elf…Like some wacked out recipe for the perfect demon… 

“I’d ask you to alert me should I ever reach that level of annoyance, but I’m guessing I’ll be able to tell.” Dorian muttered as he tied his horse to a branch. 

“Smiley is about as subtle as a high dragon in a glass house.” Banal rolled his eyes at that. 

“Of course, why should I beat around the bush when I want someone dead? Or in Vivienne’s case, severely maimed?” 

“You really are an eye for an eye kind of guy aren’t you, Smiley?” Varric noted. After all, the Herald seemed to fixate on returning whatever you did to him. The dwarf was only surprised Banal hadn’t roasted the Iron Lady yet. He chose to think of it as a small victory on his and Solas’s part for talking down that angry elf…Plus it also meant Banal wasn’t as bad as everyone thought…he had restraint, if only so he could figure out the most suitable punishment… 

Banal furrowed his eyebrows as though insulted. “No. Let it be known if you take my eye, I will take both of yours, and your dominant arm.” And with that the Herald waltzed away to find the furthest part of camp to set his tent. 

“Well then I take it, stealing his hair for a binding isn’t going to end well?” Dorian quipped. 

Varric chuckled, “No, Sparkler, I don’t think it will.” 

***** 

“So I’m having a hard time picturing you as a father…” Dorian began. He had been watching how the Herald kept forcing himself awake as the rest of them ate. He found it odd that the elf barely ate and if the loose fitting clothes were any indication, he’d have to say the Herald couldn’t afford not to eat. Honestly, Dorian had seen slaves with more weight to them. 

Banal’s eyes moved lazily to Dorian, just staring as though trying to discern some motive. The mage kept his expression neutral. “It wasn’t like I was father of the age.” Banal gave. He could tell they were all itching to ask more questions, that little blistering light flickering all too brightly inside them. But curiosity could lead to dark places, such as where the human was trying to go. 

However, Banal’s head was too stuffy and stiff with exhaustion for him to dodge the questioning entirely. Unless he passed out of course. 

“I gathered that from your sparkling personality,” Dorian rolled his eyes. He got a tired snort (which Varric had said was good, it meant he was listening and he might have found something amusing…It was the actual laughs he had to watch out for). “So I take it you weren’t very close to any of your children?” 

Banal’s eyes narrowed slightly. He could feel the Tevinter was working some angle, that this subject meant something to him. But what? His magic was too thick and slow for it to be of any use. Perhaps he was comparing? Seeing how an elf would raise his child compared to an aristocrat. 

“Not necessarily true…” Banal thought for a moment how best to describe his children. His sons were all monstrous in both appearance and souls. They’d eventually get it in their heads that it was their time to reign and attempt to overthrow him. Which ended in their deaths. But something told Banal that wasn’t going to get a very good response… “I had very little to do with my sons,” _until I killed them…_ “…is there a point, Tevinter?” 

Before Dorian could respond, Varric jumped in before things began to get ugly. “So did Vhena spend all her time with her mother then?” Banal blinked, looking to the dwarf. 

“Her mother died in childbirth.” He stated bluntly as though talking about the weather. 

“You had to raise her then?” Cassandra started in as she threw another log on the fire to combat the descending chill. Their tents were all set up and ready for them. Banal chuckled wearily. “Not willingly, no. She was a peculiar babe. She’d cry and cry until her maids got sick of it and shoved her in my arms. It was annoying; I had things to do.” He rolled his eyes as he gazed into the fire. “Then when she got older, she’d pester me and pester me until I’d sing to her or read to her or other such drivel.” 

Some of them laughed at his disgusted tone. “So how old was she?” 

“Seventeen.” 

Varric felt a slight pain in his heart. Bethany and Carver were eighteen when they came to Kirkwall. Bethany was eighteen when she died. He remembered how that hit the Hawke family. All any of them could do was imagine how it felt to lose a child that young. Well, Vivienne was uncaring as she stood up and retired to her tent. 

“Was she a mage like you?” Blackwall asked quietly. He knew what it was like to lose everything in one action, but he couldn’t quite grasp all that the Herald lost. But he knew the consequences of war. Families were torn apart, people were denied simple things. 

“I doubt there will ever be a mage like me.” Banal chuckled drily. “But yes, she was a mage.” 

“I take it you trained her?” Solas spoke up from his shadowy observation seat. He would take the first watch that night, and he was supposed to ensure the Herald did not leave his tent. Which was easier said than done. 

“Of course. I would not trust just anyone to train her.” He rolled his eyes. “She was quite skilled with ice magic, useful in a desert. Though primarily she wanted to focus on healing magics, extending life and manipulating spirits.” 

Dorian’s eyebrows flew up, “You know healing magic?” He had never seen the elf use such spells. Even when a Terror gouged out a part of his arm…Or a Rage burnt his leg. As far as Dorian knew, he wouldn’t even allow for anyone to heal him, though there were a surprising lack of scars. 

“Yes, I just loathe them. But after her basic training, that was what Vhena wanted to learn, said someone had to be the healer since all of us threw caution to the wind.” Banal shrugged. His eyelids were beginning to droop. 

“All of us?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he meant the Clan? But he had already stated he was not Dalish. Then who could he be talking about? Other slaves? Some strange nomadic desert tribe that wasn’t particularly Dalish? That could explain why he knew little of humans. 

“Can we skip the Inquisition tonight?” Banal got his dorky grin as he chuckled at his own pun. Varric, Dorian, Blackwall, and Sera all snickered while Cassandra gave a disgusted noise. Bull was already falling asleep in his place. 

Dorian noted how different that smile made the Herald look. It gave him a much younger appearance, more mischievous, and if he was being honest quite dashing. Not that the Herald wasn’t attractive, Dorian didn’t think there could be an ugly elf. He was certainly exotic with that strange white streak that had begun to crawl behind his ears. And Dorian kept wondering if those were holes in his lip or just a trick of the light. 

But then the smile slipped away and the Herald stood up. 

“Good one, Smiley.” Varric chuckled, “Now I think you should try to get some sleep. You look like a corpse.” 

Banal paused a moment. “Well then Dorian must have risen me from the dead, perhaps you should talk to him about that.” 

***** 

_Falon’Din’s heart was pounding as he followed little Vhena down a pitch black hallway. She was quite literally the only light there was. If he looked down, he would swear there was no ground, no walls, no ceiling, only darkness. But she kept a tight grip on his sleeve as she pulled him down the corridor._

_“So to warn you, Papae isn’t a morning person, and he is going to be real angry you’re here.” She giggled as though it was funny to infuriate her father. Truthfully, Falon’Din was a tad frightened of incurring Banal’s ire. So much so it had taken a few days for the Creator to work up the courage to use the necklace._

_Vhena had given it to him with a little twinkle in her eyes. She said it could activate the eluvian her father used. At first he didn’t believe her. It had taken an enormous amount of power for Banal to open his own portal. And the necklace was just a blackened bird skull with a pair of fangs._

_But she explained that the fangs belonged to one of her brothers (no longer living) and that her father used various bones from his sons as keys since they held similar power to his. Falon’Din was at first appalled by such a thing, also a bit skeptical. After all what kind of Elvhen had fangs like a canine? Vhena said she had only met one of her half-brothers before, and he was monstrous. She assumed the others were too._

_That necklace weighed heavily on his neck, still hot from opening the eluvian nearly twenty minutes ago._

_“…and whatever you do don’t run…It might trigger the followers and I really don’t want to find you on the dinner table…” The Creator blinked as his heart stopped. Vhena turned to him still with her wide smile. “Don’t worry, Papae likes you, otherwise he would’ve killed you in the eluvian.”_

_“That’s so reassuring after you just mentioned I could become dinner…” the Guide rolled his eyes._

_“So don’t run and try to I don’t know have sex with him.” Falon’Din’s cheeks lit up making the girl laugh. “What did you think I didn’t realize what my father does with people in his room? Believe it or not, but my father has given me such a talk before. Even explained how two men and two women could have sex and gave me—“ the Creator’s hand stopped her as his heart stuttered blood into his face._

_“Please stop, my dear.” He nearly begged. She giggled under his hand. She danced backwards away from him._

_“Well then, go on.” She motioned towards the ominous looking metal doors. He couldn’t see any designs in their surface. But he reached out and touched the glinting metal. There was something carved in them, something intricate and perhaps woven in design._

_“It’s not that simple, Vhena.” He muttered. His heart felt like it was either going to stop completely, or burst from his chest. He felt the exhilaration of disobeying an order from someone who could kill him, but also dread. He was so far from his Temple, his source of power. He could very much be killed here._

_“What? Opening the door?” Vhena’s eyebrows furrowed deeply. She didn’t see why the man was so intimidated by her father. It was obvious to her that her father was quickly falling for the Creator, even if he loathed to admit it. Otherwise, the Creator would have been dead after seeing his eluvian…_

_“Yes…what? No.” Falon’Din’s head was spinning. “Everything about this is not as simple as you would think.”_

_“Really? Because I think you just have to open the door.” She put her hands on her hips and huffed. Then she noticed the sweat beginning to form on his neck. Her own magic, much lighter and softer than her father’s, pressed out to his heart. She felt him jump and push back at her. But even that short contact told her he was frightened._

_“He’s had many lovers before you, you know.” She said softly. “And save for three, every one of them is dead now. Papae doesn’t suffer long term relationships, but I do believe you are the longest he’s ever shared a bed with someone. At least in my lifetime, which is marginally small by the way.” Then she gave the biggest smile, letting her magic light up the hall some more._

_Falon’Din had to chuckle at how sweet and innocent she looked compared to the gloom around her. “I suppose I should be flattered I’ve lasted this long.”_

_“Uh-huh, now just open the door, and I’ll see you two at dinner.” She giggled. Falon’Din gave her a questioning look. It was only mid-morning. But then she gave a knowing grin before bounding off the way they came. Thankfully, he had his hand on the door handle, otherwise he would have been enveloped in complete darkness without something to anchor him._

_He took in a deep breath before slowly opening the door. Inside was a marginally better lit room…well it reminded Falon’Din more like a tomb. A vaulted ceiling glittered in painted stars, showing off a large and ornate bed. Save for the fabric and mattress it was carved from the wall. Stone skeletons with wings and other such monsters decorated the baseboard. It was oddly beautiful coupled with the blood red silk sheets that spilled to the ground. There was also a desk to his right with several books piled on it._

_But Falon’Din was too busy watching as the bed shifted. Fear and excitement coiled in his stomach as the silk slipped from the palest skin. Banal groaned as he sat up, black hair quite literally a beautiful mess of black, that white playing hide-and-seek as a clawed hand ran against his skull. Then those eyes opened._

_The Creator’s breath stopped as they narrowed. “What are you doing here?” the man hissed. Falon’Din suddenly realized what it was like to be trapped in a demon’s gaze. It was mesmerizing as it was terrifying. But he still managed a playful smirk, breaking away from that deadly gaze to marvel at his chest which was bared to all the world. Even the blood red tattoo over his left shoulder, the one that just barely peeked over his collarbone, was showing._

_“You didn’t honestly think I’d let you go without a fight, did you?” The Creator managed, though it took more effort than he’d admit. Banal cocked his head, still with narrowed eyes, gauging him. He couldn’t be serious, could he? To willingly come to a being who wanted to kill you was sheer stupidity. Though he had never accused Falon’Din of being smart…_

_Slowly, watching every reaction, Banal got out of his bed and sauntered closer. He saw the Creator’s pulse jump in his neck, heard the deep breaths he was taking. Without thinking, the Guide backed up against the door as Banal got much closer. He jumped as the dark elf slammed his hand against the door near his head._

_Banal got a wicked grin as a terrified look, one of a halla seeing the flashing of a blade for the first time, came over Falon’Din. He leaned closer. He could almost smell fear and arousal as his the tip of his nose barely brushed against the other’s. A small hiss escaped the Guide._

_“You should have stayed far, far away, Creator.” He made his voice sultry, breathing the words against the other’s lips. In his eyes was a challenge, daring the Guide to move. Falon’Din wasn’t sure he was going to be able to move at this rate. “Now how did you get here?” Banal leaned back, keeping his hand where it was though. He could almost laugh at how the Creator seemed to pout._

_His eyes flickered down his neck, finding a familiar pendant. Vhena…of course the little devil set this up. She was insufferable once she got an idea in her head. He would have to have a talk with her…later. Right now he had to deal with the Creator._

_Falon’Din managed to slide out from between the door and Banal. The Forgotten One straightened to watch as the man waltzed over to his desk, eyeing the books. It was clear in the way his back was stiff that he was frightened but that wasn’t the only thing that was stiff._

_“So why do you want me to leave so badly?” Falon’Din asked absently. His fingers caressed an edge of a book. Banal knew he was trying to sort through all the conflicting feelings. And he knew the Guide liked to talk when he was distressed. So Banal watched him, suppressing his own wanting to throw the man against the wall and devour him completely._

_Banal chuckled to himself. “Do you think Elgar’nan would suffer me corrupting his son?”_

_Falon’Din’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention. “He is my father in name only.” He snarled. Then he caught himself and let out a loud breath. “Besides, it isn’t as though he would realize who you were. He thinks you dead with your kinsmen.”_

_“As though you would not tell him of me.” Banal challenged. Those garnet eyes narrowed even more._

_“Who do you think I am? Fen’Harel?”_

_“You would do well not to speak that name in my presence.” Banal’s voice echoed harshly off the stones. The other man jumped, his skin paling. “There is only one person that I want dead more than Elgar’nan and that is the Dread Wolf.” Falon’Din crossed his arms, hoping to contain the flutter of his magic against his heart._

_It wanted to reach out, search what now seemed to be an endless pool. It was like staring into an abyss, into a starless night sky. He suddenly felt small and insignificant as he did star gazing when he was younger. The sky did not care if you lived or died, the stars would not weep for you, they didn’t care for your name or knew that you existed. That’s what Banal’s magic felt like, the depths of the sky._

_Banal tilted his head to the side feeling that little breeze of magic against his own. “I wouldn’t do that were I you.” He laughed. Falon’Din blinked, fear being replaced with a challenging gaze._

_“Is that so?” He made the magic slink through that abyss. He watched as the Forgotten One shivered. He shut his eyes, feeling what seemed to be an ancient magic source. It felt unexplored, raw and wild. It snapped and clawed at his magic, but he felt it was holding back. When he opened his eyes, Banal was stalking towards him. Instinctively the Creator backed himself against the wall, though his pose was more lurid than frightened._

_“It’ll kill you.” Banal warned. He could smell the forest on the Guide’s clothes now. And that damnable grin that spread over his face…_

_“Awe, so you do care…” Falon’Din mocked placing his hands on the other’s hips. Banal snorted. He let the Creator pull him closer. His every instinct was saying to kill him. He wanted to be rid of this one man who was little more than a child to him. This one man who’s very smell sparked a need in his chest. A need Banal did not want, should not have. He should not **need** anyone. _

_“It’s more like I still have a use for you.” Banal teased. Their lips barely brushed._

_“Hmm, and what use would that be?”_

_“It wouldn’t be a very good plan if I told you about it.” Banal began nipping on his throat. He knew every sensitive spot on the man, how just to press them, how to stroke, kiss, bite._

_“True enough,” Falon’Din moaned as the dark elf sucked a soft spot on his neck. “But please tell me it involves the bed.” He felt the low chuckle more than he heard it._

_“Oh I don’t think you know what you are asking for, Falon’Din.” The grinding of their hips contradicted his words as he lifted his head with a challenging grin._

_“Perhaps I need a little demonstration then.” With that he closed the distance between their lips. The kiss quickly turned heated and primal. Banal pressed the other’s back against the wall, digging one hand through his short hair to tilt his head for a better angle. It was like their tongues were having a war and Banal was going to ensure he came out on top._

_It didn’t help Falon’Din any that he was somewhat distracted by the man grinding their hips together or his magic that seemed to suddenly be all around him. It was dark, but it was heated. Tiny little shocks danced over his flesh as he was pushed up the wall. Instinctively he wrapped his legs around Banal._

_Beside the Creator’s head, he could hear nails scraping against the rocks. Then Banal broke the kiss. His breaths fanned over high cheekbones, as his eyes gazed into half-lidded garnets. “I’m not promising to be gentle anymore.”_

_Falon’Din cocked an eyebrow. This was gentle? He was gentle before? Briefly his mind remembered being bitten and having nails digging into his skin. But they were quickly washed away by incoherent wants._

_“Just hurry up and fuck me, Banal.” He got a laugh, one that made his heart stutter. It wasn’t filled with malice or lust, but actual amusement. Hesitantly, Falon’Din cupped his face as strong hands wrapped around his ass, his back leaving the wall._

_He felt magic sizzle against his skin, and he opened every pore to it. That endless pool washed over him, filling him with every dark desire its owner felt. And though his mind knew he might actually break himself, he completed the circuit with his lips. Every tiny kiss he placed on the Forgotten One’s skin was another bolt of electricity sent coursing through them._

_Banal tossed the man onto his bed. His heart was beating incredibly fast. He felt tiny ghost magic inside him, burning and coaxing. And looking down at the other man, he wondered if he should let this continue. Just snap his neck and be done with it. However he felt his lust straining against his pants._

_Then Falon’Din, growing tired of waiting, grabbed the hem of his pants and pulled him onto the bed. And then he found out what it was like to be bedded by a god-like being, over and over._

***** 

Banal’s mind woke up, but his body still seemed asleep. He couldn’t move, despite the very pressing need to rid himself of the erection his own memories caused. He couldn’t even open his eyes to look around. 

His mind swirled for a reason. Images of water came to mind. Ah…of course. Solas. He had given Banal a skin of water during dinner. He must have slipped some sort of sleeping potion in it. 

Surprisingly, Banal was either too tired or too aroused to really care. His mind started to dip back into the drug, making feeling anything quite hard. Not that he minded…Well he did as a tent was by far the worst place to have an erection and with no sex in sight. He could take care of it himself, but seeing as he couldn’t move… 

So he just gathered enough will to move away from the thoughts that caused his predicament. 

***** 

_“The Beyond burning…” Falon’Din murmured as he just laid there looking at Banal. The dark elf furrowed his eyebrows and looked down at him. The Creator had been dozing after their last bout, so Banal decided to just read, though the man apparently liked to cuddle as he had kept moving closer to the prickly elf. Vhena as a child would do that if she fell asleep next to him or if she snuck into his bed. It was annoying. They lived in a desert, for the Void’s sake, it was too freaking hot to be cuddling._

 _“Ir abelas, what?” Banal marked his spot and moved to look at the sleepy expression being cast towards him. The Creator’s lips were bruised, there were angry love marks on his neck and chest, scratch marks covered his back, and his skin was dotted with bruises. For a moment an odd feeling lit up inside Banal. It was something akin to guilt, a knotting of his stomach._

 _

“Your eyes…I figured out what they remind me of.” Falon’Din smiled, his arm draped over Banal’s midsection. “The Beyond burning, or well fire in the Beyond’s sky.” Banal blinked. Most match his eyes to dragons, or demons. Yet here was a Creator calling his eyes like a shifting sky… “You are a lot like the sky.” 

Banal opened and closed his mouth, trying to get words out his throat. This was new. He didn’t like it. Who the hell talks after sex? “And you are obviously delirious from sex.” He finally managed. 

Falon’Din chuckled, “Perhaps, but I can only blame you for that.” The Creator winced as he tried to sit up. Every pore seemed to be raw. Even his magic was aching, but the memory of when they both opened themselves made it worth it. 

Banal winced himself, though he couldn’t imagine why. The Creator managed to get himself settled against Banal’s chest, much to the other’s displeasure. He could practically feel tension radiating from the Forgotten One, sense the strange look he was getting. He laughed to himself feeling Banal’s hand hesitate many times before it rested on his arm. 

“I did warn you,” rumbled against Falon’Din’s ear. “Just be glad you didn’t die…and we can’t have children together…” Falon’Din raised his head a little. “What? How else do you think I created Vhena?” 

Falon’Din laughed, “I take it you made love to her mother until she was sore too?” 

Banal rolled his eyes. “I don’t make love, Creator. I fucked her silly and let her…” he searched for the right words to describe it, “taste my magic. Otherwise any child conceived would die before the third month.” 

“Oh? This has happened before then?” 

He snorted loudly, “What? Do you think that I’m some celibate god?” 

The Guide settled back with a laugh. “No, not really. I just would like to pretend you didn’t have sex with just anyone.” 

“You can pretend all you want. The fact of the matter is my priests and priestesses are only as useful to me as how good they are in bed. There’s a few other factors, sure, but they aren’t a necessity.” 

A knock on the door interrupted them. “Are you two covered from the waist down at least?” Vhena’s singsong voice came through the wood. Falon’Din practically squirmed, heat springing to life on his face. 

“What are you getting uncomfortable for?” Banal asked as the man shifted away from him. 

“That’s your daughter.” He answered as though that answered everything. Banal just laughed with a confusedly amused expression. 

“So?” 

“Dinner’s almost ready, are we having a guest for the evening?” Vhena called out though she had a giggle in her voice. 

“I cannot speak for him, Vhena.” Banal’s serious expression said Falon’Din shouldn’t. But the indecisiveness in his eyes told Falon’Din he could. 

“I suppose it depends on what…or rather who we are eating.” Both the elves laughed at that. 

“Don’t worry there’ll be salad! I’ll go tell Sulahn’mi to set another space.” Her little footsteps could be heard echoing off the walls. Falon’Din wasn’t sure if he should be worried she didn’t deny eating someone or that somehow they had salad. 

“Come, get dressed. Sulahn’mi and Nehnlin hates it when people are late.” Banal said after a moment of silence. He was trying to ignore the sense of dread in his chest. Suddenly he was self-conscious, wondering how the man would react to those three…Which was absurd. This was his temple, the Creator had no place here. 

But then that dorky smile crept onto Falon’Din’s face. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen…you destroyed my clothes remember?” 

“I didn’t destroy them…” Lightly, Banal ran a hand over Falon'Din's chest, murmuring a spell. Darkness seeped from his fingertips, wrapping around the Creator, touching him where there were wounds. In their little trysts the Guide found he did not fear this black magic touching him. If anything his body shivered and relaxed as it ate at his wounds. 

“You ripped them off, that counts as destroying them, emma lath.” Banal tried to hide the wince those words caused him. It wasn’t that hearing them caused pain, in fact they started a disgustingly soft flutter in his chest. Oh he could practically feel his white streak growing… 

“Well if you weren’t so slow in getting them off…” Banal quipped. 

***** 

The dining area…wasn’t as grotesque as the rest of the Temple. Which was good for Falon’Din’s stomach. He wasn’t sure what the chandelier was made out of, but he also didn’t’ want to find out. So long as there was light, he was happy. The long table was carved from smooth crystal that was apparently growing here. It reflected and radiated the soft Veilfire glow. A nice difference from the rest of the place. 

As the two entered, three unknown women stood up and at attention. One particularly short with a rounder face and thin pointed ears that really had no other shape to them. Her body was well defined with muscles, so a warrior then. He guessed she once had a dark complexion that had been lost in years living in the dark. It was odd to see such a shock of orange curls tangling around her face. Even odder was the mask that was also a crown? He supposed that’s how he’d describe it. 

The one next to her was quite lanky, lithe in form. Obviously a rogue. She had an eyepatch over her left eye and pale blonde hair bound back in a ponytail, exposing her large ears. The third woman was…well probably the High Priestess if her outfit was anything to go on. It was very ornate and showy. Her ears were small but the point almost downturned. She was by far the palest of the three, or perhaps her midnight black hair made her look sickly pale. Falon’Din took note that half her head was shaved while the other flowed over her face and down her back. 

Then there was Vhena who grinned at the Creator wearing her father’s clothes. At least he didn’t stick out anymore… 

“Oh good you’re here.” She bounded to the other side of the Guide, leading him to a seat. “Sit, sit.” She motioned as she went to her chair across from him. Banal took his place at the head of course, the other three at the other end. 

“So, um…” Falon’Din fidgeted sitting next to one of the unknowns. “Am I allowed to ask for introductions?” Vhena blinked before realizing they had other company. She laughed at herself. 

“Of course, ir abelas I’m not used to new faces.” He noticed Banal rolling his eyes. “So this is Sulahn’mi, the commander of our warriors.” The orange haired woman’s golden eyes blinked several times as she bowed her head towards him. Falon’Din nodded back. “And that’s Nehnlin, he’s our hunter and leader of our rogues.” Falon’Din opened his mouth to ask, but the acidic emerald glare he got told him Vhena did not misspeak and he should keep his mouth shut. “And last but not least High Priestess Samahlnan.” 

Looking at her smile, her impossibly blue eyes, he noted all of them had no ‘whites of the eyes’. It was all blood red. That twisted his stomach once more, but he managed a shaky smiled. “A pleasure to meet you all.” 

Samahlnan chuckled with a wicked grin, “And it is good to finally put a face to all that screaming we heard.” 

Falon’Din tried hard not blush, or to show agitation while he bit his lips. Banal instead spoke up, with a look of indifference once more on his face. “Now, now, the Creator did not scream. He yelled, there’s a difference.” Falon’Din didn’t think he was that loud…of course there could be odd acoustics…or people spying. 

“Of course, Master.” She conceded as other people shuffled in carrying food. Despite himself, Falon’Din’s stomach growled loudly. But he was wary as a plate of some sort of meat was set before him. That and these slaves had ghastly complexions and black around their mouths. 

“Can I assume this is not someone?” He asked, not really wanting to touch the meat despite it smelling delicious. 

Samahlnan began to reach for it when a dagger embedded itself into the table near her. She looked down at it with indifference as though this sort of thing was normal. 

Falon’Din nearly died of a heart attack. 

“Use a knife, seth’lin.” Nehnlin growled in a soft voice. Of course that could be because he was talking through a mask. “Some of us want to eat that.” 

“And some of us aren’t afraid of dirt and germs.” Samahlnan countered. She had an oddly poetic sounding voice, as though she were reciting some epic ballad. 

“I don’t want whatever you were doing down in the torture room on my food.” 

Falon’Din looked across to Vhena who just offered a cheesy smile and shrugged. She then quickly cut a tiny piece of meat off and popped it into her mouth. “It’s halla I think?” That didn’t help the queasiness in his stomach. 

“Just eat the salad,” Banal muttered. Even though his words were not very loud, both the rogue and priestess quieted down almost instantaneously. He jumped when Samahlnan smacked his arm holding out the salad bowl. He noted her hands shook terribly, and the scars on her wrists. 

“So, Vhena there’s another one that needs to be tended to before he ripens.” Samahlnan started as she took the dagger flung at her and used it to cut the meat. Falon’Din eyed Banal suspiciously. These were seriously his highest ranked followers? Banal smirked and shrugged as a slave fixed his plate for him. He was leaning back, enjoying the show. 

Vhena sighed loudly. “Another one? Isn’t this like the third one this month?” 

“Fifth.” Came a very quiet almost mouse like sound from Sulahn’mi. She had removed that mask but kept a hand close to her mouth as though covering it from view. Or holding something back. 

“So I haven’t found the proper dosage of the poison yet. It’s new and—“ 

“A half of a teaspoon will induce seizures. A quarter of a teaspoon keeps them lucid.” Banal spoke up. Samahlnan’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at him. It was almost funny to watch confusion turn to anger as though Banal had stepped over some boundary. “It has dragonthorn in it that amplifies any other effect. So you start smaller and work your way up.” 

“I take it this is a normal conversation for you?” Falon’Din asked Vhena who was happily munching on her food. 

She took a sip of whatever was in her goblet. Falon’Din was really hoping it wasn’t blood in his. “Sorta. Sometimes Nehnlin regales us with his adventures outside.” 

“So you go out of the Temple?” He cocked an eyebrow at the rogue who was wiping off his knife before pulling down that mask. 

“Of course,” nope it wasn’t the mask that made him speak softly, it was just his voice. “In case you hadn’t noticed we aren’t exactly self-sufficient here. Someone’s got to get food.” 

“And no one notices you?” Falon’Din found it hard to believe no one would not notice any of these people. They stood out like durgen’len. Nehnlin snorted. Silently he moved the eyepatch to reveal the tattoo of Sylaise. 

“No one looks too closely at a slave, right?” Falon’Din winced. He began to wonder what drew these people to the Forgotten One. If Nehnlin was once a slave, then why, how, who were they? 

“And I take it Sulahn’mi doesn’t talk much…” 

The warrior looked around sheepishly, tics coming over her face which she tried to hide with her hands. A few little hiccups sounds escaped her before she quieted down. She shook her head rather than lower her hands. 

“You have a…very unique set of people, Banal…” He gave with a slight smile. 

“I seem to attract unique people,” was his response.

_

***** 

The Breach was sealed, and everyone was having a party. Well nearly everyone. Banal stood looking down on them with pure disgust. He watched them dance and drink. All fears had been erased. Despite impossible odds, the giant hole in the sky was shut and they were laughing and singing. 

It disgusted Banal to no end. His insides already felt like they were cooked from closing the Breach and forcing the different magics through his body. Now it felt like he was being fried inside out. 

“Solas confirms that the heavens are scarred but sealed.” Cassandra’s voice pulled him from his thoughts of slaughtering this whole village. “There are a number of reports of lingering Rifts, but this is a victory. Now the question is what are you going to do?” 

He didn’t look at her. He knew what she was hoping he’d say. That he was going to stay to help. Sadly that was far from his concern. It was obvious that now this alliance will dissipate as there is not giant threat looming. What was the point in commanding a small circle of people? He could cause more havoc and chaos by himself. 

“I think I’ll travel. I’m curious about this Tevinter.” Banal remarked in an uninterested tone. He felt something off. There was too much smoke in the air and the forests around the village seemed too quiet. He could not sense any animal, could hear no bird. Of course when everyone was wildly dancing and singing off-tune that was to be expected. 

That was when the bells started going off. Suddenly soldiers rushed for the gates. The mirth and levity that was filling the world just shattered. Banal gave a twisted smile. His body was too raw and sore to consume this panic, but he still tasted it. A few of his companions immediately sought him and Cassandra while Cullen began to yell for everyone to the gates. 

Banal kept an oddly cool demeanor as everyone spastically ran about. 

“So what now, boss?” Bull asked, a little out of breath. He was thankful for a moment that the piss Flissa served was barely stronger than water. This would be a shit time to be drunk… 

“We go invite our guests for tea.” Banal rolled his eyes. “Cassandra, Varric, and Dorian with me, the rest of you see if you can’t coax the flailing idiots down.” Bull nodded before looking at Blackwall and Sera. They were all thankful for just a moment that Banal was eerily calm in every situation. 

“No rest for Southerners is there?” Dorian quipped. 

“And Tevinter is any better?” Banal asked as they began a leisurely stroll to the gates. Most of them felt the need to run, but Banal found there wasn’t anything that could threaten him. Not the would-be army and not the panicking civilians. 

“At least back home, enemies have the decency to wait until after the party to try and kill you.” 

***** 

So it turned out that whatever the Elder One was, he was here…with Templars…that were somehow red. That was a plot twist Varric could have never have made up on his own. So was the fact that Banal seemed ecstatic about getting to kill Templars for once. And for once Varric didn’t have to talk him into helping them clear the trebuchets. 

He danced and flung fireballs as easily as he shoved a sword through one Templar’s neck. Note to self: get Smiley an actual sword of his own… 

They all gathered to await the next wave, Cassandra and Varric breathing hard. Surprisingly Banal wasn’t. He was also covered in the most blood and red lyrium shards. 

“Smiley, I’d dust off that lyrium before you go crazy…er.” Varric tried to joke but memories of Meredith and his brother came to the front his mind. Having to put Bartrand in the sanitarium was bad enough, knowing the Herald could be next was somehow worse. Banal eyed him for a moment. 

He could feel the darkness inside the red stuff. He could hear it’s singing, a much different song than regular lyrium. But he felt no danger from it being on him. He _was_ darkness. This stuff was just a mimicry of what he held inside him. 

“I’m in no danger, Varric.” He assured the dwarf as the next wave hit. 

The soldiers learned to stay out of his way quickly. His fire spread rapidly across the battlefield as he slew a number of the monsters. He danced and parried, he ducked and spun. And even when a Shadow managed to slice a thin line on his right cheek, he did not falter. The wound stung terribly, more so than other wounds. The blade was what he assumed to be an arm that had been turned into lyrium. 

He could almost feel the fake darkness try to eat away at him, find some foothold. But it couldn’t find that light it fed off. It could not find a cell not already corrupted with darkness around it. He felt it was the disease inside began to die. It would scar as his magic diverted from the area for some reason, but that was all it was likely to do. 

Cassandra slashed at the Shadow while Banal threw a glyph on the ground. His glyphs set up far quicker than any mage’s thus the Shadow had barely stepped into it before it was launched into the air, ass aflame. 

Banal chuckled to himself as the last of the creatures died. On to the next then. He silently ignored the soldiers urging him to head up the hill as he dug through the corpses. It wasn’t as though they had any choice but to wait for him to stop. And the Templars weren’t going anywhere. 

***** 

“Load the trebuchet!” A soldier called out as he held off one of the remaining Templars. Banal snorted. What was he some sort of whipping boy? He glared at the soldier. How dare he try to order him around. 

Banal clawed into the diseased flesh of a Templar, blisters breaking open to reveal more lyrium underneath the wounds. It didn’t matter. He let electricity roll down his spine and through his arm. The creature spasmed violently, smoke curling from its mouth before its heart exploded inside its chest. 

“I do not take orders from shemlen.” He hissed. 

“Herald!” all of his companions yelled at the same time. For a moment he looked confused at their angry expressions, then he returned it. Save for Dorian and Varric, all others were trying to keep the remaining few Templars from the trebuchet. Dorian and Varric were working on crowd control. Leaving Banal the only one not fighting. 

And that wasn’t by his choice. The others just ensured he had to use his staff rather than whatever blade he managed to find. With a growl, Banal looked at the siege weapon. How much easier would war have been with one of these back in his time? Why you could fling rotting corpses over a wall and watch as disease killed your enemy for you. 

Banal glanced towards the mountains where the lines of red were still streaming. For a moment he didn’t know quite what to do. He had never seen a trebuchet before this, let alone know how to aim and fire one… 

But his mind, the one that lead countless armies to death and ruin in the glory of his name, quickly formulated a plan. He guessed the wheel on the side was used to load whatever was fired by the thing. So that was done. If he could aim the thing to hit the snow above that little mountain path they were taking…Boom snow falls on their heads, the enemies on this side were basically trapped, and he gains time to kill them all. 

Without so much as a thought, Banal’s magic latched onto the wheel and spun it hard. The chains wound up quickly. “There, lazy shems!” He shouted once the thing was load. “Now fire the damn thing, and bury the bastards!” He barked. A soldier looked back once before running to the platform. She hit a metal cog which released the tension holding the arm back. 

The fireball flew quickly towards the mountainside. There was a collective cheer as snow barreled down on the enemy ranks. But it was short lived as a dragon screeched. For a moment Banal just stood there watching as an obviously diseased high dragon flew over the mountain. He was giddy for a moment too. It had been so long since he had a good dragon fight. 

Then Dorian and Cassandra grabbed his arms and dragged him behind some boxes. A red fireball slammed into the trebuchet then, splinters and burning wood raining down on them. “Get off me,” Banal hissed as he hastily stood up. 

“Shit who ordered the end of the damn world?!” Varric called as he came out from his make-shift barrier. 

“Ir abelas, I specifically ordered that to be delivered in two months’ time in Orlais. Must have been a mix up.” Banal quipped as he watched the dragon circle round. Dorian snorted while Cassandra groaned loudly. 

“Everyone to the gates,” She growled. Banal rolled his eyes. 

“It’s just a dragon, Seeker.” 

“Just a dragon? It had colored fire!” 

Banal sauntered passed her. “And that means…?” 

“It could be an Archdemon.” Varric supplied. Maker he hoped not. No one knew where the Ferelden Grey Wardens were and the Hero had up and disappeared too. Tabris was the only person he could think of that might stand a chance against an Archdemon, and he knew damn well that Grey Wardens were their only chance at defeating another Blight. 

“Sounds like you need the Warden, not me then.” Banal seemed to be about as disturbed as a cat woken up from its nap. The Seeker made her signature-disgusted noise and began pushing against the Herald’s back to make him move faster. 

“Keep touching me and I’m going to burn your fingers to the bone.” The Herald warned. 

“Then move!” Banal rolled his eyes before quickening his pace…which was surprisingly quick. It was almost like he flew over the ground. 

They only paused long enough for Varric to blast open Harriett’s door before they were bounding through the gates. The Herald still seemed smug and pleased as he watched the dragon fly overhead. He seemed fixated on that dragon, ignoring the Commander entirely. 

“Come on, we must get everyone to the Chantry!” Cassandra yelled. Dorian could have nearly laughed at the appalled look that came over the Herald’s face. It was like she had three eyes and smelt of rotten cheese. 

“If you are so worried about the dragon, then why waste time saving fools who couldn’t get to the Chantry in the first place?” Banal asked. 

“Smiley, normally I’d love the challenge of getting you to see the light, but right now is not the time.” Varric muttered. He was a little winded from having to run so much on this rocky terrain. Couldn’t he have been born with longer legs? Or the world have been made flat? 

“If nothing else, think about how much more killing Templars saving everyone involves. You like doing that.” Dorian quipped. The elf snorted, before bounding up the steps. They were finding out quickly that the man was incredibly agile and incredibly fast. Apparently there was no medium speed for the Herald. 

They slaughtered the Templars attacking Lysette before moving up and killing a few more. Varric heard a small voice come from one of the buildings. Its lock was jammed or something was blocking it so the Seeker just kicked it in. 

Inside was Seggrit, surrounded by flame and his leg obviously broken. Shit they all looked at each other. 

“Don’t look at me, I deal with dead things.” Dorian muttered. Banal rolled his eyes muttering elven curses towards the shemlen. With a wave of his hand, magic pooled in the air. It was black as always, but rather than biting and tearing at the world, it twisted and spiraled. It wrapped around Seggrit’s leg, forcing the bone to mend and pain to subside. It ate away the wound, bringing it into Banal’s body where it was slowly consumed. 

“There, are there any other—“ A scream interrupted him. He growled loudly. Stupid shemlen, could they not save themselves? 

***** 

Another Templar fell to the ground as Threin bounded for the Chantry. Banal’s breaths were coming in faster, not from exertion but from sheer rage. He had saved every single damn human in this pathetic village. Even Minaeve and Adan despite the fire and explosive pots. His insides weren’t just charred now they were completely and utterly ashes. 

He suppressed a feral growl at the seething black inside him trying to unleash itself and devour the whole village. But Cassandra’s hand clasped over his shoulder as she caught her breath. “That’s everyone.” She breathed a sigh of relief. Her small smile was met with a snarl. 

“Great, now can we go to the Chantry and wait for the dragon to bring it down on our heads?” He hissed through clenched teeth. She withdrew her hand as his rage seemed to channel through him. She nodded with a clenched jaw, just as the Chantry doors flew open to reveal a very battered Chancellor. 

Banal took a small comfort in the fact that someone was miserable. Well more miserable. It was quite obvious the shemlen priest was going to die. He could feel the red inside of him almost. If it were not for the fact that Banal had just completed a deplorable act of kindness moments ago, he would have smiled. 

But all he could do is scowl to show his displeasure as the doors closed behind him. That spirit of compassion appeared then, to hold up Roderick. Banal’s body bristled even more. Couldn’t he just hit someone already? 

Vaguely Banal was aware Cullen and this Cole were talking, but mostly he was fixating on Roderick’s pain, to combat that sick twisting of his insides. 

“I don’t suppose just killing the dragon is an option?” Banal gave feeling people watching him. Seriously, kill the dragon and whoever controlled it and be on their merry little way. 

“The only thing that slowed them was that avalanche…” Cullen muttered, his mind spinning. There were no tactics to make this survivable. Either they die kicking and screaming or they die sniveling like cowards. 

“You aren’t suggesting I bury myself with a bunch of shemlen are you? I’d sooner invite this Elder One for dinner.” Banal hissed with a sneer. 

“We are dying, Herald,” Well that wasn’t untrue. Every breath humans took was a breath closer to death. “but we can decide how. Many don’t get that option.” 

Banal furrowed his eyebrow. Seriously? That was his solution? Bury Haven? Madness. “Well I choose to fuck that dragon and its so-called master over twice and piss on its corpse, Commander. You want to bury yourself go ahead, leave me out of your suicide mission.” 

Cullen tried really hard not to punch the elf. He was just being stubborn for stubborn’s sake. Could he not see this was hopeless? 

“Yes, that’s it Chancellor. Roderick knows how, he wants to say it before he dies.” Cole muttered, turning that demon’s glare to the priest. 

“There is a way. You wouldn’t know it unless you’ve taken the summer pilgrimage as I have. The people can escape.” The Chancellor muttered. It was like he was under the illusion that Banal cared whether or not these people lived. Which he didn’t. 

Banal blinked uncaringly at the human as he went on about the dead shemlen woman again. “Enough with your roasted prophet, shemlen. In case you haven’t noticed the dragon is flying, it’ll spot you people before you get above the tree line.” 

“It won’t stray from the Elder One. He’s here for you.” Cole mumbled. 

“Well that just simplifies things doesn’t it?” He sounded almost happy to go fight this Elder One. 

“It leaves you no escape, Herald.” Cullen suddenly realized the elf didn’t listen to him. The elf did not care if he died and had Banal been a different person, Cullen would think his motives were altruistic. But this was Banal, he only cared about battles and death. “Perhaps you’ll surprise it, find a way.” 

A hand stopped the Commander. “Please, Shemlen, I will not fall to a wanna-be god and his pet dragon.” Banal snarled. He turned to his remaining companions. “Follow Cullen.” 

Everyone blinked at him using the Commander’s name, but they were more concerned that he seemed hell bent on facing this monster alone. “You can’t be seriously thinking—“ 

“That thing wants me, not you. Go with Cullen or you’ll be buried as well.” They all looked at each other as Cole staggered off with Roderick. Cassandra unsheathed her blade and held it out. 

If she could not be there to shield him, she could at least arm him with a quality sword. “Use it well, Herald.” She whispered. 

“If we are to have a chance, if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.” Cullen growled as the people began to evacuate. Banal snorted. 

“Please, as if anyone could ignore me.” 

***** 

Banal had forgotten what it was like to fight solo. The thrill of every enemy focusing on him, the joy of killing every one with his own blade. It was exhilarating. Their pain and death sung in his veins as he let his power radiate from him. Snow melted the moment it came into contact with mess of black magic. He wielded it just like a sword, magic slicing through armor, sucking at the blood that fed it. 

Out of his body entirely, it was free to wreak as much havoc as it wanted without murdering Banal’s body. Already crumbling houses disintegrated, splinters flying around him only to shove their way into Templars’ eyes. The ground shook as he walked, rocks floating and flying at deadly speeds. It was like the Fade had entered the real world. Sweat and blood covered him as he made his way to the trebuchet. His attention focused entirely on the behemoth that stood guard. This should be interesting… 

A grin nearly split his face as he twirled his staff. The world became black again, instincts so wild and out of control he only saw the enemy before him. His power rumbled, taking the stray magic around them and strengthening itself. A dark laugh ripped out of him. 

The beast turned towards him. How the thing could see or tell anything under all that lyrium was beyond Banal. His wounded cheek throbbed for a moment from all of it. A part of his magic began turning that wheel while the rest struck out at the minor foes. 

“Aren’t you an ugly one? My guess is you are in charge here.” He cooed. The Behemoth ran, shaking the ground. His weighty arm swung. Magic gathering in his legs, Banal jumped high above the thing’s head, twisting around to fire off a bolt of lightning. Finding no skin, it may have disrupted the lyrium, but it caused no real damage. 

The ground shattered from his impact. Banal straightened, watching the beast throw red lyrium at him. His magic shielded him, consuming the stuff when it got caught in the web-like barrier. There was little chance for a blade to do damage, and magic was nearly useless. Absently he ducked a knight’s blade, ramming his blade through the weak spot at the neck. His staff blade might be able to penetrate… 

Banal let the knight slump, taking the blade with him. His magic pulsed out, ripping the converging knights to shreds. He poured that magic into his body, strengthening the muscles, shielding every cell. With a little twirl of his staff, he sent an ice bolt that the Behemoth merely shrugged off. 

Banal danced around the beast, flickering in and out of view. He drew on an old knowledge, knowledge that allowed him to augment his strength with his magic. Though the magic fought to be released, he held it inside. 

He struck and jumped when the thing tried to slam him. Carefully, he pushed a part of him away. A small piece that tied him to the Fade. It clung tightly to his body but he still shoved it towards the ever present Beyond. 

His physical form shimmered, becoming immaterial as red lyrium shot through him. It was like a whisper inside his body. A twisted smile graced his features before he ran towards the lumbering giant. If it could think, he imagined it would be thinking ‘shit’ right about now. 

Banal launched himself into the air, holding his staff like a spear. The impact shattered many crystals, all cutting into his flesh with no avail. The Fade Cloak was too strong to allow but minor scratches if anything to occur. 

With all his strength, Banal hammered into the red shell that was now cracked. Finally, his blade met soft flesh, the beast screaming and flailing. It struck out at its comrades. Many were trapped inside lyrium walls. A sickening crack echoed around them as the blade pierced the brain. 

The Behemoth fell forward with a massive thud. As Banal stood and tried to dislodge his weapon, he found it to be stuck. A glance down showed red lyrium creeping up its haft. Well… 

With a frown, Banal abandoned his staff. He might not be affected by red lyrium, but that didn’t mean he wanted to have a staff made from the crap. That was when the dragon came roaring overhead again. This time though, Banal was expecting it. The trebuchet was aimed, all he had to do was buy some time. Easy right? 

He barely flinched when the red fire struck at some exploding pots nearby. His magic wrapped around him, shielding him from the blast. When it receded, Banal found himself face to face with a very tall, and very ugly piece of shemlen. Red lyrium stuck out from his face and on his robes that had apparently become a part of him. Was there ever going to be such a thing as a pretty enemy? Oh wait, Banal was the pretty enemy… 

“Enough! Pretender you toy with forces beyond your ken no more.” Banal literally snorted and raised an eyebrow. The ground shook as the dragon landed behind him. But he didn’t care. All he could think about was this disfigured shemlen calling him mortal. “Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus.” 

“Wrong way round.” Banal said without thinking. Dammit, Sera was beginning to rub off. He snarled at himself before refocusing on the thing before him. “You are the only one pretending here.” Honestly, you’d think the massive amount of magic pouring out of the elf would tip some people off. More importantly, how dare this shemlen try to be the next Banal. 

Anger and hate began to take root in his dark heart. This world was his to destroy and no hideous shemlen mage was going to take that away from him. He had lived far too long to allow such an insult. 

This Corypheus seemed amused. “Posturing will no longer save you, Herald.” He spat the word as though it were a mockery as though he was talking to his pet slave. Banal narrowed his eyes and let his magic pulsate out. It was official, this was his most hated shemlen. He’d rip out his guts first and splatter them across the sky. “You will kneel.” 

Banal laughed darkly. “If I did not bow to Elgar’nan, what makes you think a sniveling, pathetic, filthy scavenger such as yourself will make me kneel?” His voice became more like a demon as the anger had time to boil inside him. 

“You will resist, you will always resist. It matters not.” This thing mumbled as though he were expecting that. Banal had the urge to tear off his face. He might have if it were not for the lyrium growing out of the thing. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.” He produced a foci from his robes. And before Banal could do anything, it lit up and pain ripped through his arm. 

The Mark lit up, trying to pull more from the foci. It even pulled his own magic back inside him. For a moment, his heart stuttered. His magic would not answer his call. Fire ripped its way up his hand. The dark magic tore at his insides, fighting every pulse that shoved it inside to make room for the Dread Wolf’s magic. 

“It is your fault, Herald. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning and instead of dying you stole its purpose.” Blood magic started to tear at the Mark. He had seen Samahlnan use it several times, had even loved to watch the blood boil inside their veins as the blood was broken down into magic. But to feel it…Unconsciously, he dropped to his knees, cutting off the circulation to his hand. It did little to stem the clawing pain as the Anchor was straining to stay on his hand. It was much like ripping out a grown tooth. 

“I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as touched, what you flail at Rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.” Banal bit back a feral growl. Had his powers been able to lash out, that shemlen would be nothing but a pile of ash. But another pulse slammed through his body. Red and green battled for dominance on his hand, both shooting pain through his very bones. “And you used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall!” 

“If you were…half the god you claim to be…you wouldn’t need a mark to walk in the Fade.” Banal hissed as pain made his eyes blurry. Corypheus grabbed a hold of his arm and raised him off his feet. How Banal wished to shove his claws into those eyes. But his shoulder wrenched and screamed, popping from its socket. 

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own. To champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed for I have seen the throne of the Gods and it was empty.” 

“Someone sounds bitter.” Banal chuckled before he was tossed to the side like a doll. Yep, this shemlen was dying first. His head smacked against something metal. Blood began to slide through his hair, braid coming unraveled as he struggled to see straight. “Maybe we Gods did not want to see your ugly face.” 

“The Anchor is permanent, you have spoiled it with your stumbling.” 

Banal snorted. His magic tore at his insides still despite the blood magic receding. Blood began to well up in his throat, trickling down his chin. “Aw, ir abelas leth’alas lath’din.” He mocked as he got to his feet. He couldn’t move his arm, and his vision was blurry, but his magic flexed, feeling the machine behind him. 

The idiot had thrown him onto the trebuchet. Which was good, less of a struggle to get his bruised magic to hit the switch…The dragon stalked closer. Never before had Banal felt so mortal as he coughed blood. 

“So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation and god it requires.” A little pinprick of light flew above the trees. Time’s up. “And you, I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.” 

Banal’s magic found the little mechanism as he straightened. He looked the beast straight in the eye and gathered what magic he could spare into his voice. The ground trembled, screws and woods rattling loudly. “Shemlen, ma emma harel; emma shem’nan. Ar tu na’lin emma mi.” The last word hung in the air as his magic slammed against the trebuchet. “Ma halam.” 

Banal didn’t stop to watch as the fireball flew towards the mountain behind Haven. He was too busy fade stepping, pulling every ounce of magic around him. He saw an opening in the ground as the avalanche rumbled the ground. He felt the dragon take off but didn’t stop. His lung strained, the blood not helping as he tried to breathe. 

Banal gave one last fade step, letting himself fall down the mine shaft as the snow barreled over top of him. 

***** 

The first thing that came to his mind was pain. It was everywhere. His head, his hand, his magic, his side. The next thing was that it was fucking cold. And shivering did not help the pain in his side. 

With a loud groan that echoed around him, Banal opened his eyes. Ice was everywhere as was snow and wood. He glanced up to find the hole he jumped through gone. Well that’s fucking beautiful… 

He glared down the barely lit tunnel as he sat up. He spit some blood from his mouth. His magic still clawed on his insides, but judging from the pain that happened when he breathed, he had broken a rib so he wasn’t really concerned with whether or not his magic did anymore damage to him. 

Banal supposed it could be worse. He could be still in Orlais, dealing with a crazed Orleisan magister. Seriously though, who the hell did that shemlen think he was? Tossing Banal aside like that. Doing the whole monologue…who does that? That’s a good way to get yourself killed. 

Banal snorted. Had he been able to use his magic, Corypheus wouldn’t have gotten the chance for a monologue. Hesitantly he stood up. He could wait around, hoping someone to find him. But he was impatient, the tunnel was dark, and he really wanted to find a nice desert to curl up in. 

“Why did the Inquisition have to be based in the mountains?” He grumbled to the ice. His voice echoed oddly, coupled with sounds of dripping water. Begrudgingly he set out, the Anchor flaring brightly. At least it didn’t hurt. 

Instead it seemed to reach out, grip the thin fabric of the Fade. He wiggled his fingers, trying to brush away the feeling, but it stayed. Whatever Corypheus had tried to do to it, changed it. 

When Banal ran into some demons, he glanced down at his Mark and back up at the enemies. He had no weapon and with his magic still bottled inside…In experiment he raised his hand and flexed the magic around the Mark. It flared. A loud boom sounded as a Rift tore open, sucking the demons back inside. Then it closed by itself. 

“Well that’s useful.” He thought aloud. He saw an opening ahead and nearly screamed. Outside was a fucking blizzard. His nose twitched in anger. The fury did nothing to help his magic heal his body; if anything it coiled the mess of darkness tighter and forced it to squeeze too hard. 

When this was done, he was vacationing in the Forbidden Oasis for a year. With a look that might stop a dragon dead, he trudged out into the snow, covering himself in a fire spell much like his ice spell. 

***** 

The camp was on edge. People were injured and frightened. Suddenly they had no home, no protection, and no direction. Inquisition members did their best to settle things with the civilians. But things were bleak and it was utterly hopeless. 

It was all rather depressing for Dorian. He had no talent for healing magics, and most people preferred him to stay as far away as possible like he never bathed. He sighed loudly to himself as he watched others bustle about trying to make enough room in the infirmary tent. Solas and Vivienne and some of the other mages were there along with some Chantry sisters. 

But no amount of magic could heal this. Dorian was even trying to comprehend this. He had seen through a pair of borrowed spyglasses, Banal standing up to something, but what? He had seen the avalanche and the dragon fly off, but knew there was little chance for the prickly elf to survive. 

Still, all of them couldn’t help but hope. Varric seemed especially depressed when he thought no one was looking. 

“Dark, and cruel, but somewhere a light shone, shimmering, struggling to live.” Cole’s voice made Dorian jumped. 

“Maker’s breath, make noise when you sneak up on someone.” He breathed. The boy if one could call him that blinked absently as though not hearing Dorian. 

“He hopes he is alive. He worries this is all his fault. We found the red lyrium, we found Corypheus, we found…we found.” Cole looked in the direction of Varric. It was very creepy how the boy could do that. Dorian vaguely wondered if he was not a boy at all. He’d have to be certain, but the Altus would hazard a guess that Cole was indeed a spirit. 

“Perhaps you should go talk to Varric about that.” Dorian tried to not be obvious about getting him to leave. 

“It’s cold; he doesn’t like the cold.” Cole tilted his head. 

“Who? Varric?” Odd the dwarf ran around with his chest hair bared to the bracing cold all the time and never complained. 

“No, the Herald.” 

Dorian felt like someone threw him into ice water. He blinked several times before focusing on the boy. “The Herald? He’s alive? Do you know where he is?” 

Cole listened for a moment. “Alive, hurting, hating. The hate makes him hurt more, his insides are turning black, dark coiling into a pearl of pain. But the hate helps him. One foot, another foot, so much snow. By the Void, why is there so much snow?” 

Dorian could have laughed and kissed the boy. Suddenly the fear that had clawed in the back of his mind lifted. If the Herald was alive, then they could finish this…somehow. That was really not his job to think of how. 

Then the horns began to blow. Off in the distance, Dorian could make out the figure of Cullen practically dragging another smaller figure. 

***** 

“Stop touching me.” Banal hissed. The Chantry Sister looked to Mother Giselle. Her hands stilled as they were trying to remove his frozen and charred shirt. The look in his eyes was a challenge, like touch me and see where your hands end up. 

“You should rest, Herald.” Giselle tried her best to keep the savage elf from exploding…again. There was a large area where he had melted all the snow from a sudden burst of magic. Everyone was terrified enough as it was after hearing about this Corypheus. They did not need the one man that could save them to be another worry. 

Banal snorted, smacking away the shemlen’s hands. He shrugged out of his own shirt, trying to roll his shoulders. But the left was still unresponsive and at an odd angle. “No what I need is my shoulder put back.” He hissed. 

“You are so very loud, Herald.” Dorian’s voice sounded from the entrance to Banal’s private tent. The mage held out a bowl of soup as the two Chantry shems gave him a questioning look. 

“Oh my, the pampered mage bringing me food? This must be the end of the world.” Banal snorted. 

Dorian chuckled as he walked further in. It was quite warm, no doubt from the fire glyph on the ground. He took a moment to enjoy not freezing his moustache off. “Don’t get used to it. I only agreed to because you just had a mountain fall on you.” 

Banal rolled his eyes before watching the shemlen hand Mother Giselle the bowl since there was no available space for it. Too much tonics, bandages, and water bowls covered the end table. 

“Do me a favor and pop my shoulder back into place. I can’t feel it and I’m pretty sure we still need the Anchor.” Dorian blinked, noting the odd position it was in finally. Also he took note of the almost downy black line of hair on his stomach. So elves did grow other hair… And then the sight of tight muscles coupled with protruding ribs… 

A dark chuckle sounded from the Herald. “Careful Tevinter, we are in the presence of two shemlen priestesses.” He joked. Dorian was quite skilled at hiding his embarrassment, passing it off as though it were noting. But he did be sure and put a bit too much pressure on the sore joint as he shoved it into place. 

Banal hissed before rolling his shoulders. “Ma serannas. Now where’s the advisors? I’d like to be off this forsaken mountain as soon as possible.” 

“I think you should eat, Herald. You are no good to us starving.” Giselle piped in. Dorian pretended not to notice her basically pushing him away as she stood to give the Herald his soup. The elf looked down at the bowl and then back up at her with a look that said: you can’t be serious. 

“I’d sooner eat a shoe, than whatever that is.” Banal hissed. 

Dorian hid his chuckle. “I think that’s soup.” 

“Really? Why is it gray then?” 

“I think that’s why they said it was a surprise when I asked what was in it.” He earned a chuckle. “But until we do get off this mountain, we have little else to eat, and you aren’t in the best shape to refuse it.” 

“Watch me.” Banal hissed as he stood. Dorian was surprised the elf could still stand. But he did, and he even managed to get his shirt on before he went out into the snow to find the quickest way off this mountain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I can't write smut...which is funny because in junior high that was how I practiced writing (I was a horrible teenager writer...) but I just can't, I blame many things...
> 
> Thank you for reading as always! Never imagined my twisted bundle of Nothing would be this loved...
> 
> Concept Arts can be found [here](http://nolifequeen1663.deviantart.com/gallery/53811703/Dragon-Age-Story-Concepts)
> 
> For specifics:  
> [Samahlnan](http://nolifequeen1663.deviantart.com/art/DA-I-Banal-Priestess-Samahlnan-526112580?ga_submit_new=10%253A1428717526)
> 
> [Nehnlin](http://nolifequeen1663.deviantart.com/art/DA-I-Banal-Priest-Nehnlin-526115136?ga_submit_new=10%253A1428718514)
> 
> [Sulahn'mi](http://nolifequeen1663.deviantart.com/art/DA-I-Banal-Priestess-Sulahn-mi-526117708?ga_submit_new=10%253A1428718863)
> 
> [And for a surprise! That's not very well drawn!](http://nolifequeen1663.deviantart.com/art/DA-I-Banal-Daughter-Vhena-Battle-Armor-526119028?ga_submit_new=10%253A1428719372)


	15. Tarasyl'an Te'las

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter in Skyhold where Banal gets some vengeance against the Seeker finally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! I'm not dead and neither is the story don't worry!
> 
> So before we begin, I'd like to ask who you think Banal should choose at Halamshiral? I normally do Celene and Briala making up, but I feel Banal just hates everyone there. Like if given the option he would frame Briala and Gaspard for treason, let the assassin (trying not spoil it for those sad few who haven't done this quest yet) kill Celene and name himself Emperor of Orlais (despite the fact that he HATES Orlais)...or just give it to Corypheus... 
> 
> So Yeah I'd like for you all to weigh in as I'm stuck in a debate with myself (and that goes no where pretty quick)
> 
> This chapter is short and vaguely pointless. Seriously you could skip it and be fine but read the end notes at least please.

A few weeks had passed. It took a few days to clear away enough rubble in this fortress to even begin to settle it. For once everyone was happy Banal was a powerful mage as his spells allowed the clean up to go far quicker and shave some future repair time off. 

And then about a week into fixing this old place, he was named Inquisitor. It was odd how they all looked to him as something akin to a savior. It was disgusting, their looks of hope and admiration. The whole fortress was filled with a light that threatened to eat his very soul away. 

But this is what he had originally planned. Win their trust and become the leader of this rag-tailed army. Job well done. Banal smirked to himself as he stared down at the crews beginning to fix the walls. There was still no place for the horses and merchants what with an entire bridge blocking the way. On top of that, there was no place to hold prisoners. Alexius was basically under constant supervision, which was tiresome. Those guards could have been doing something far more productive than watching a broken shemlen wallow in himself. 

Thus he made the dungeons one of the top priorities. That and his quarters. He didn’t need to tell them to fix his room. Everyone just automatically did it. Which pleased him greatly. Such dutiful shemlen they were. 

Then he looked out at the entire fortress from his spot on the battlements. He had known this fortress from a time long before human memory. Tarasyl’an Te’las looked much the same and yet very different. The architecture was definitely shemlen, no Elvhen builder would use such shitty structures. But the grounds still sung of old spells, the Undercroft was remarkably intact, and it still seemed to float among the clouds. 

Tarasyl’an Te’las…It was frankly a little ironic for him to make it his base. The place where the sky is held, what the humans called Skyhold…It brought a smile to his face. He could only recall a little about the place, that it was used to do exactly what it is called primarily. It was just fuzzy recollections of rituals used to help stabilize the then paper thin Veil. Or was it just a military outpost meant to monitor activity? 

“By the Void, I’m getting old…” Banal grumbled as his memories seemed shaky at best and not there at worst. 

“If that’s the case, then you are aging quite gracefully.” Came a now familiar accented voice. Banal snorted, leaning against the side. He didn’t look at the human as he came beside him. 

“Of course I am; I’m Elvhen.” Banal shot a glance at Dorian who seemed to chuckle at his haughty tone. “And what did I do to deserve being graced by the Tevinter Magister’s presence?” 

Dorian sighed loudly. “I told you I’m an Altus, not a magister.” They had talked many times on the way to Tarasyl’an Te’las. Mostly it was just little questions about Corypheus, what he said, and Banal asking questions about this idiotic thing called the Chant. Dorian had asked why he was the one who got to answer those once. It was primarily because asking the Seeker, the Spy, or the Mother would most likely lead to them trying to convert him or such an emotionally filled conversation Banal would burst into flames just hearing it. Or they might think he was finally coming around. 

No need to give them such stupid ideas; they came up with them on their own. Like making him Inquisitor. While it was his plan to do such a thing, he was surprised the Seeker had agreed to it. After all, he knew she was still suspicious of him. He had figured he’d have to stage some untimely deaths in order to get the position…He was really looking forward to them too. 

He had them all planned out. Cassandra was to have been overwhelmed by the Red Templars and force fed red lyrium leading them no chose but to kill her; Leliana would have leapt to her death after the loss of so many of our agents knowing it was her fault; Cullen would have overdosed on lyrium; Vivienne would have been horrendously massacred on a mission; and Mother Giselle would have been poisoned by Venatori agents. He sighed heavily thinking of what could have been. 

Dorian seemed to notice that Banal was looking distant for he coughed. He found the Inquisitor…interesting at best. It was like the man knew just how to wrap everyone around his fingers or push them away. And the fact that someone could ignore Dorian so easily just added to the curiosity. 

“Tel’abelas, I take it there is some sort of problem with the library? If you want peace and quiet, then you should pick a different haunt, shemlen.” Banal muttered, keeping his smile from his lips. Dorian narrowed his eyes at him. 

“No Dagna was looking for you earlier, I was walking about and saw you.” Dorian explained in a similar disinterested manner. What was he hiding? Banal wondered that again. Why couldn’t he see into his darkness? He briefly wondered if Tevinter mages were better trained than Southern mages. Perhaps one day Banal would get the chance to ask…and ship Vivienne off to Tevinter to be properly trained like a dog. 

Instead, Banal smirked and finally turned towards the human. “You just happen to be walking? On the battlements?” His tone was a sinister teasing one that instantly confused Dorian. 

“Is that a problem? Or am I confined to the library and my quarters?” Dorian narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t tell if the elf was seriously flirting or making fun of him. Or chastising him. Or warning him. Or seducing him. Did he have to be so complicated? 

Banal chuckled darkly. “Of course not. You have to eat and bathe lest I wouldn’t let you into my quarters anytime soon.” As he spoke the words he brushed passed Dorian. The human’s head hurt even more as he tried to interpret what sounded like a threat but was phrased like a flirt. 

Banal laughed, feeling the confusion behind him as he headed for the Undercroft. 

***** 

“A little snake told me you were looking for me, Arcanist.” Banal announced as he walked down the stairs to the forge area. Immediately upon her arrival, the durgen’len Dagna was briefed about the quest to craft something to contain Banal’s magic with. She was all too eager to put her smithing and arcane expertise to work. 

She didn’t mind being called by her title either. It was oddly comforting that he referred to her as Arcanist, like he didn’t care whether she was dwarven or Qunari, so long as she was an arcanist. 

Dagna spun around with a big grin. “Uh-huh. Here look at this.” She held out her hand. A golden ear cuff sat in the middle of her small hand. It felt odd to Banal’s senses. It was void of everything, but it pulsed out as if wanting to fill itself. Oh ho ho… 

“I just finished it this morning.” She said with her normal amount of joy. “Minaeave said she was trying to make something that could contain your magic, like a vessel. But from what I gathered, your magic seemed too chaotic a force to stay in a vessel. So that got me thinking—“ 

“Arcanist, please speed the story up some.” Banal rolled his eyes. She reminded him of Vhena a bit too much. Always talking. 

“Right things to do, Rifts to close, sorry.” She chuckled, unfazed by his brashness. “I think I managed to make a rune that should absorb your power.” 

“A rune?” His eyebrows went up. Perhaps this little durgen’len had some brains after all. 

“Yeah, normally you use lyrium to give the run its power, draw some symbols with some lyrium and voilà you got a rune. But this rune should use your magic to charge it, containing the energy and using as well so you won’t be completely cut off from the magic you put into. At least in theory.” She looked at the little earring. 

He could see it now that he was close to her. It had designs etched into it much like a rune, but awaiting magic to be poured into it. That’s why it felt needy. 

“I will admit to being impressed, Arcanist.” He mumbled as he took the earring. “I’ll be more impressed if the thing doesn’t break when I use it.” 

“Well it took awhile to figure out what symbols to use. Certain ones would just make it weaker, while others would just constrict you too much. There are still a lot of adjustments I can make if this one goes bad.” 

Banal looked over the little carvings before slipping the needle through his ear. A click sounded when it was clasped. It was odd, like having nothing there but still something. Carefully, he gave a little magic to it. The darkness settled into the groove like water, filling in the voids until he was certain the earring couldn’t take anymore. Then he took note that his magic was already acting like acid and eating away at the metal. 

“Oooo, I didn’t think it would do that…” Dagna mumbled as her eyes got wide. She watched black begin to color in her little etches. It seemed to glow just like lyrium, only darker. But it looked like it did exactly what it was supposed to do. 

In truth, Banal was impressed. He could still feel his magic, the rune slightly humming before dying down and clinging to his magic. He knew from the fact that it was clinging to the magic the rune would break should he retract his magic too quickly and with too much force. 

“Very good, Dagna. This will work quite well, though I do hope you plan on making more; one little earring is hardly going to dent my magic.” He made sure to harden his praise with criticism. After all nothing is gained if you are content with one success. “And perhaps work on strengthening the rune.” 

“How so?” She asked as she began to walk to her notes. Banal followed her and looked them over. He wasn’t much of a runecrafter, he didn’t know many Elvhen who were, but that wasn’t his job. 

“Just from feeling it, I can tell that should I try to use the power in the rune, I will break it.” She nodded as she listened. 

“Maybe if I added more magic resistance? And maybe coupled it with a stronger metal and less of a barrier…” 

The durgen’len seemed to disappear into another world as she muttered to herself, making scratches on her notes as Banal saw himself out. 

The next day he was called to the Undercroft again. Dagna was unusually ecstatic when she saw him come down. She didn’t even wait for him to fully descend into the forge area before bounding up to him with a little gleam in her eyes. 

“I think I got it, Inquisitor.” Banal had to hide his chuckle. As though she could truly figure out a way to contain his magic. His own followers had spent centuries trying, and never once came close to perfecting it. He knew of course the only way to properly contain it was to be connected to something large like his Temple, but that seemed out of the question in this case. 

Still the dwarf was certainly excited. “Did you even sleep, Dagna?” 

“Doesn’t matter. What matter is I tweaked the rune a bit. It should have a higher tolerance for magic, offer less resistance due to decreasing the friction of magic against magic caused by…you know what here just try it on.” 

Banal blinked. This was a little hoop earring. “Is that silverite?” Interesting choice of metal. Many Elvhen of his time made their armor from that as it indeed had a higher magic tolerance while still allowing them to cast spells with ease. 

“We had some laying around, so I made a lot…” She motioned to her work table that was littered with silverite jewelry. Did the dwarf know he had been itching for his normal adornments? Or was jewelry just the easiest thing for her to make. Not that it mattered. “I heard silverite had some interesting magical properties, so I tested it out.” She motioned for him to put it on. 

Carefully he withdrew his magic from the now brittle gold earring, it quite literally crumbling away from his magic eating the soft metal. Dagna made some notes in her book real quick before watching him put on the earring. It was much like before, his magic sliding nicely into the carvings and settling there. 

Only this time he felt less friction, less humming, and most importantly it didn’t feel like his magic was eating at the metal. He was still sure it would break if he tried to use his magic too quickly, but that was to be expected. Now if they were made out of dragon bone… 

“Job well done, Dagna. This will work nicely for the time being.” Banal mumbled. Dagna seemed to be quite happy to hear that. “Perhaps during my travels I will meet a high Dragon and then we could see what these runes of yours can really do.” He grinned devilishly before she began handing him more fine jewelry. 

Dagna explained that Vivienne had overseen the designs, ensuring nothing clashed and would look perfect on him. He was almost flattered that the shemlen mage cared that much about his appearance. She was still going to be fed to whatever large beast he could find that would take her. 

When it was all said and done, much of his magic then resided in those runes. His ears were covered in studs with chains (also with runes on them) that hung and crossed to the large ear cuff on top of each ear. Two studs once again adorned his bottom lip, while rings and a clawed gauntlet middle finger covered his hands. Little chains ran from his ring finger and middle finger to a bracelet and he now had two necklaces around his neck. 

All that was missing from his Kingly wardrobe was a crown. And to make everyone happy, his magic was then just a quiet hum held inside the metals. 

***** 

“You are highly skilled with the blade, recruit.” Commander Helaine commented absently. She had been brought in to instruct the Inquisitor in the ways of the Knight Enchanter. So far she was impressed by how easily he grasped his training, though he lacked the spirit perhaps to perform Resurgence which was crucial to properly control the field. If his allies could not trust him to heal and strengthen them, how could they trust the entire Inquisition to him? 

“Oh my, are you complimenting me, Commander?” Banal scoffed in his normal haughty tone. They were observing Cullen and Cassandra training some of the new recruits. Clashing of swords, dirt flying, shields bending, it was all familiar to the two elves. But Banal wasn’t concentrating on the recruits. Rather he was more interested in the Seeker. 

“Do not mistake a fact for flattery, recruit.” Ah yes, there’s the hard-ass shemlen commander Banal had grown to know in the last few weeks. He found it quite funny how she thought of him as a lowly recruit, when he knew more of the dirthara’enasal than she could even hope to know. Sure she could wield a spectral blade, but he knew she couldn’t maintain a long connection with the Fade. 

After he had sent agents out to find him some lazurite (for he already had the wisp essences), it took him a matter of hours to show he had already been trained in the discipline to a degree. Commander Helaine and Banal spent hours hitting at each other with deadly blades, gaining much attention from the soldiers. 

And in those hours she showed him tricks he already knew. How to deflect arrows with the blade (it was just as simple to shroud himself in the Fade Cloak). How to connect himself to the Fade for a few precious moments and then become tangible again. 

She could only keep Fade Cloak active for a few seconds. But Banal was far too crafty to let her know just how skilled he was in this so-called Knight Enchanter discipline. Indeed the only thing that eluded him was Resurgence. All the other spells were newer versions of dirthara’enasal. Only this Resurgence was completely new. 

It required him bringing healing magic through him and into his companions. The problem was he hated it. If they couldn’t heal themselves, wasn’t that their problem? Moreover, his magic might utterly destroy the shemlens. Not many could find darkness to be healing. And he shuddered to think of what would happen if he were to try and use light magic… 

No the idea was far too foul for him to even consider trying the damnable spell. Let the shemlen heal themselves. 

“…I was informed that your magic has been properly controlled.” Commander Helaine’s voice brought him back to the present. He blinked a few times before glancing at her. 

“I don’t know if one could properly control my magic.” He gave a dark chuckle. “But in shemlen terms, I suppose it is controlled.” 

“Good.” She nodded once before apparently deciding something. “Then perhaps now you can focus better.” 

“I told you countless times, I have no problem focusing. It is merely I do not wish to learn the spell.” Both their voices were those of stubborn commanders. They turned to glare at the other. After all, which of them had been in a hundred battles? Who had spent centuries refining his abilities? Banal knew more than every Knight Enchanter there was. 

Yet here was a woman who would not back down from him. And for that, he could respect her if only slightly. She still pissed him off calling him recruit and whatnot, but there was some mutual respect there. 

“Come, let us see how long you keep that attitude in the midst of battle.” She began to head towards the practice area. Banal cocked an eyebrow. What could she possibly be thinking? If she was looking for a practice fight, he was more likely to kill her. After all he hadn’t been outside Tarasyl’an Te’las for weeks now, if only because his army was rather unstable still and he knew better than anyone how bad it would be to leave it like that. 

Still he followed her to Cassandra and Cullen. 

“Seeker Cassandra,” Helaine bowed respectfully. “Commander Cullen.” The two shemlen looked at each other as Banal stopped a few feet behind the woman. His eyes were watching like a lazy cat. Even the recruits began to stop in order to focus on what would seem to be an oddity. 

Banal avoided Cassandra and Cullen even more now that he had an entire fortress. If he didn’t want to see someone, there were several ways to avoid them. Not that he was really avoiding them. It was more like carefully plotting how to kill them and were he in their presence he might just act upon those impulses. 

After all, what did he need them for now? He was Inquisitor. This was now his Inquisition. He had little desire to share the power. But as Josephine has proven, his advisors were needed to do things for him. Such as sending troops to collect whatever Banal happened to desire at the moment. Or reinforce his power. 

Thus, Cullen would be safe so long as he continued to be effective at his job. Cassandra…now Banal could get rid of her. Or perhaps it would be better to show her the true extent of his power, the power that already frightened her like the shemlen she was. Show her how defenseless she would be against him. After all he knew how Templars and Seekers worked, he had known it long before they were called that. 

A smile broke over his face as he decided how best to enact his vengeance. 

“I’d like you to spar with him.” Commander Helaine’s voice snapped Banal’s attention. 

“I’m sorry, Commander, but you want us to spar…with the Inquisitor?” Cullen’s voice sounded just as surprised as Banal felt. But that surprise was dwarfed with the fury. As though any shemlen here could match him. 

“It does him little good if he never practices an actual battle.” 

The two shemlen shared another look. This was just a recipe for disaster. But then a wicked little thought entered his mind. This was an opportune time for his vengeance was it not? After all it was disguised a training exercise. His smile came back. 

“Come now, don’t tell me you are frightened of facing your Inquisitor in battle, Seeker.” Banal mocked joyfully. She knew it wasn’t in good fun, but others might have. 

Commander Helaine frowned but didn’t comment. She was quite used to his back talk. “I can think of no one else who would be best suited to spar with him.” Cassandra frowned but she nodded solemnly. If anything, she could see just how far Banal was willing to go, what his resolve was, and how decent a soldier he could be. 

***** 

Their match wasn’t set until the next day where they faced each other in the fighting area (which was just a large, even patch of dirt since the sparring ring had yet to be assembled). They both wore armor, had real weapons (or as real as a spirit blade could be anyway), and had two very different looks. 

Banal looked quite happy about this. Cassandra looked…like Cassandra. Steely expression aside, she was wondering just how far he was going to go. That was when he spoke up with a jovial tone that was stuff of nightmares. 

“How about we make this far more interesting, Seeker?” He cooed. Cullen had allowed for the recruits to watch this as it would surely be good for them. If only to see how their Inquisitor fought, and with any lucky got his ass kicked by the Seeker. He had to have some weakness right? 

“And how is that, Inquisitor?” She asked warily. His idea of interesting was far from what a normal person would deem interesting. 

He only smirked more. “No holding back. Let me see what a Seeker of Truth is capable of.” 

A whisper spread through the crowd that was gathering. Bull, Blackwall, Varric, and Vivienne were among them. He couldn’t possibly asking her to unleash her abilities on him…could he? Of course, the Inner Circle knew Banal was something of a masochist. 

Cassandra blinked. “You want me to…” 

“Of course, otherwise this would be a boring fight. You don’t hold back, I won’t hold back.” He shrugged, taking his spirit hilt in hand. Granted, him not holding back would ensure she died which wasn’t his goal, so he would hold back…a tad. 

Cassandra thought about it for a moment. Perhaps it would be good for him to experience what an actual Templar could do to him in a fight. After all, the Red Templars were hardly a good example of their abilities. But Samson… 

“Very well.” She admitted, taking her shield and dropping into position. 

“You can’t be serious, Seeker. He might just—“ Cullen started, knowing full well that the Inquisitor was little less than a demon when it came to even practice fights. 

“The match will be to the first blood.” Commander Helaine’s voice overpowered the shemlen. She stood stony faced as usual between the two. “There will be no major injuries sustained, understood recruit?” She looked to Banal. He smirked and shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Whatever you say, Commander.” He truly didn’t care that he was getting ordered around. He was about to massacre Cassandra. He settled into his relaxed battle stance. Solas and Dorian wandered over at about that point. Both were curious as to why there was such a commotion going on outside. They were surprised to see the Seeker and Inquisitor begin to circle each other. 

“Well, so finally one of them snapped?” Dorian quipped as he stopped beside the dwarf. 

“Nah, Smiley’s trainer decided he needed to have a real fight to practice his new spirit blade crap on. Cassandra just happened to be volunteered.” Varric shrugged. In truth he was nervous that Banal might actually kill the Seeker. 

Banal centered himself with a few breaths; Tarasyl’an Te’las was abound with magic, letting him easily find the Fade and connect with it. He felt the zing of magic run through his arm from the hilt, settling in his shoulder. It awaited to be forced into a blade, spear, shield, whatever he commanded. 

He felt his body fall into a familiar flow of battle, his vision once again bleeding as he circled the Seeker. “Come now, Seeker, you can’t tell me you haven’t been dying for a chance to hit me.” He scoffed. But she was far too well trained to fall for his prodding tone. “Very well, I’ll make the first move.” His smile split his face in two as he ran towards her. 

She kept waiting for him to draw his spirit blade, watching the hilt. He rose it like he was going to slash her…Her shield barely rose in time to deflect the blade, it instantly disappearing as Banal danced back. She narrowed her eyes. If he was going to draw his blade at the last moment, that leaves him wide open to attacks… 

Banal waited for her retaliation. His whole body was singing with his magic, the runes actually amplifying it without breaking. That little dwarf was quite skilled. 

Cassandra kept her shield wall up as she started to come closer. Banal merely smirked, not moving to back away or stay in a blind spot. “You know, Seeker, most enemies wouldn’t give me time to trash talk.” Then he snickered. “Well unless you’re Corypheus and just ignore it all. Seriously that darkspawn deserves a medal for ignoring me…” 

Their blades clanged loudly, stopping Banal from continuing. With little effort he shoved Cassandra away. He rolled his wrist once, blade singing through the air as only an ethereal blade could. He struck her this time. 

Sparks flew from the blades, bits of magic falling to the ground as they continued to block each other’s assaults. Cassandra was the one that was taking steps forward, though it didn’t seem like the elf was giving ground at all. She was wondering what he was up to just blocking her attacks. 

Then he ducked one, coming into her guard as though he were going to punch her. She felt an influx of magic. A small spirit dagger materialized in his hand just as Cassandra rolled backwards to avoid getting her throat slashed. Everyone blinked at him holding the two blades. 

His smile was still on his face, heart pounding loudly in his ears. He couldn’t hear anything beyond the rush of blood, could only feel elation as his mind worked itself into a frenzy of gory demises. 

Then came his flurry. Banal flung himself at her, dagger and sword striking at speeds she could barely keep up with. Still she rose her shield and sword blocking as much she could. Her feet tried not to stumble as they walked backwards. 

Her face slowly hardened into fury as she realized Banal wasn’t going to take things easy. He wanted a fight. 

He felt a void open inside her, one that tried to latch onto his magic. Finally she was getting serious. He grinned again, jumping back to avoid a retaliation strike. With a wave of his hand, he casted a barrier spell over himself. She frowned. She knew enough Knight Enchanters to know that their barriers often dealt damage to their foes. 

He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind as they once again circled each other like wolves. What would she do now? If she attacked him head on, she risked his barrier reflecting the damage onto her. But she couldn’t just let him attack continuously. After eventually his spirit blade would manage to ignore her guard. 

Suddenly he felt a vacuum of power around her. His body reacted quickly. He gathered magic into his legs and jumped back just as a spell purge erupted from her. Once was enough to last him a lifetime. Well at least it would take her awhile to use it again. So once his feet hit the ground, he shot forward with a fade step. 

Cassandra barely had enough warning to raise her shield before his blade struck her. The amount of force behind it…there was no way it could have come from a mage…Unless he was augmenting his strength with his magic. 

Banal quickly blocked her sword, twisting inside her shield and managing to land a good punch to her face. It actually sent her backwards a bit before she righted herself. She got her shield close her body and bashed him away. 

His body tumbled over itself. But he managed to land on his feet, skidding backwards in a flurry of dust. He rolled his shoulders as he straightened. He decided very quickly he was tired of this fight. He wanted her to feel fear…now. 

The ground trembled as suddenly as magic started to heat the air around him. Magic gathered, it pulsed daringly, little rocks floating as the Fade was manifested. Then it wrapped around Banal as he rushed the Seeker. She saw a gap in his defenses and swung her sword when he came in range. 

But her sword sliced through nothing. Her eyes widened as she saw the elf become immaterial at the last moment. It was like he was some illusion of the Fade, a spirit imitating the Inquisitor. Banal gave the darkest smile she had seen lately as he began his assault. 

Each strike rattled her bones, making it seem like he was liquefying them. It was getting harder to block each swing. On top of that, he kept switching hands, spinning and dancing away from any counterstrike she could get in only to manifest his sword in the other hand and force her back onto the defensive. 

At one point he was even using two swords. Still while Fade Cloaked. That in itself was astonishing. Solas furrowed his eyebrows watching the Seeker fight a losing battle as Banal managed to land another punch to her temple. While Knight Enchanter had its roots in Elven tradition, they were not keen on keeping Fade Cloak active for long. 

Yet the Inquisitor’s body was both here and in the Fade. Cassandra’s hits when she got to make them simply passed through him no matter how she tried to focus her abilities. When she got off another spell purge, Banal fade stepped out of range. It was quite like fighting a ghost… 

Banal’s laughter sent ice down Cassandra’s spine as she panted, sweat now a healthy coat on her skin. His image was still shrouded in the Fade, the Anchor glowing dimly beneath his glove. 

“What’s the matter, Seeker? Tired already?” He scoffed. He could only see black around the edges now. He could only hear the whisperings of the Fade as he thought of how best to make her bleed. He fade stepped again. 

His sword blocked hers. Banal stepped inside her guard. His free arm twisted her shield arm back as it tried to block him. Their swords made shrill sound as he spun his around. His hilt managed to catch her blade and twist it out of her grasp. In the same shift motion, his blade spun around to her throat. 

A tiny trickle of blood fell onto his blade. His bright eyes smiled up at her more akin to a demon. Though no one else could really see, Cassandra’s eyes were wide in that split second. He had such a cruel smile, like he could sense her heart stopping, smell her fear. 

And he could. It was sweet like taking the innocence of a virgin. His Fade Cloak disappeared as he drank in that fear. Like nectar from a flower and he a greedy hummingbird. His magic gently coaxed it out of her before receding back into him, fat now. 

His blade disappeared and he stepped back. “Din’an.” Was all he said. Cassandra’s hand went to her throat, the white staining with red. It was a superficial wound sure, but had he not restrained himself at the last moment…her head would be rolling. It was frightening to think how easily he could dodge and disrupt her attacks. Either he had much practice with Templars, or she needed to train harder. 

“Consider this a payment for purging me, Seeker.” Banal laughed. Her face was puffy and beginning to bruise. Her body was sore and her mind was frazzled. While it wasn’t nearly as bad as getting purged, he could still sense her faith in her abilities was shaken once more by his demonstration of power. Which was the point after all; to remind her that he was no helpless mage. That if anyone was powerless it was she. 

And without even waiting for Commander Helaine to call the match, he turned and walked away, barely having broken a sweat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW! Finally got it done. I apologize for the shortness/rushed-ness but I have finals next week and just felt you were all waiting so patiently while I finished up backstories that I needed to reward you all with something...if only to hold you over while I disappear from the face of the earth for about two weeks. I don't have internet at home so if I don't reply to your comments I'm not ignoring you. Hopefully next week I'll have internet again...
> 
> Next chapter a question a lot of people have been asking will be answered. And because I'm me and I want you to be excited and wait for me I'll give you a little sneak peek (the sentences are a few I've chosen and sort of squished together to avoid massive spoilers...) ;)
> 
> Across from him was someone he knew well. But it couldn't be...
> 
> The man glared as he looked around at was surely a familiar place. Bones created the walls, blood flowed in little rivers on either side of the raised dais. He seemed to realize where he was before finally looking to the other person. HIs bright eyes narrowed more.
> 
> "How? Tell me how?"
> 
> "A village and a nest of dragons."


	16. I Am The One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A secret is exposed, and Cole tries his hardest to help the Inquisitor not be a ball of wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One (or two depending on how you look at it) of my three/four bombs will be dropped, so be on the lookout. (It's kind of a land mine really...somewhat hidden and not super important to the plot, but it's a little tidbit that sort of changes things...) 
> 
> Also MASSIVE SPOILERS for the game ahead, though with how much it is talked about on the internet, I doubt many people _don't_ know, but still there's your warning.
> 
> In other news, you can still cast opinions on who Banal should chose at the Ball. 
> 
> And I really want you guys to ask questions (that may or may not be answered yet) because sometimes I'm a sneaky bastard with answers, so it helps when people tell me what they get and don't get. Plus some people ask questions that I haven't considered answering, but suddenly I need to. :D

“You want me to do what?” Banal’s voice echoed out of the Ambassador’s office. Everyone stopped in the Great Hall, turning to look at that one door. It wasn’t out of fear, but curiosity. Banal’s voice was…surprised, which never happened. 

Inside, The Inquisitor was staring at the three humans baffled. Well four if you counted the seamstress who was trying her best to ignore the prickling fear she got as she attempted to measure Banal. Occasionally his eyes would flit down to her. He gave the most…alluring and yet icy looks Dorian almost felt sorry for her. 

Josephine sighed. She knew that this was going to be an uphill battle. Still the Inquisitor was on better terms with her than the other advisors. She gathered all her will, her steadiness as she looked into the uncaring draconic gaze of their Inquisitor. 

“Go to the Winter Palace, Inquisitor. Empress Celene is hosting peace talks under the auspices of a Grand Masquerade.” She explained again. Banal glared at the seamstress as she tried to wrap her tape around his torso. The poor thing nearly died from the drain of color. 

“And I should do this because…?” Banal was merely humoring them. There was no way he was going to be stuck in a shemlen ball, surrounded by those maggot Orlesians and their awful perfumes for a night. He’d sooner ally with the Dread Wolf. 

But he was getting a kick out of the seamstress. Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears, desire and fear in equal measure throughout her blood. She was confused, unsure if he wanted to fuck her or kill her. She struggled to keep numbers in her head as she was close enough to smell a very distinct musk. Like the smell of burning wood coupled with the smell of rain in a forest with a slight spice like cinnamon. She couldn’t keep her head straight. 

“If Empress Celene falls to Corypheus, he’d control most of Southern Thedas.” Dorian piped in. Banal focused his steady gaze on him. He still hadn’t unraveled the mystery known only to him as Dorian Pavus. But that’s what made the chase so fun, like setting a trap and waiting an entire day to see what you caught. 

“And we lose a powerful ally, my dear.” Vivienne stated in her usual cold manner. 

Without ever breaking his gaze from Dorian, he replied, “I don’t recall ever having to need a shemlen ally.” Banal’s voice was also devoid of emotion. “More to the point, Orlais has been in a civil war for how long now? What makes you think they’ll be of any use to me?” 

“Weakened as it is, the chaos from the murder of Empress Celene would give Corypheus a clear advantage over us, Inquisitor. All the armies in the world would not compare to having Orlais, the center of the Chantry, under Corypheus’s control.” Josephine concluded. Banal perched himself upon the arm of one of her chairs. He looked at the three, measuring them so to speak. 

It is true that allowing Corypheus to have even Orlais was an insult to Banal. After all, that rotting corpse of a country was still _something_. And then add in the fact that Banal was Inquisitor, leader of the so-called faithful. If he were to play the role he was given, he’d have to save Orlais as much as it revolted him. 

“So you invite an Elvhen who would rather burn all of Orlais to ashes to a _shemlen_ ” Josephine and Dorian winced “party? Great logic there.” 

“It is the only way to keep the empress alive,” Josephine concluded. Banal snorted. 

“The only way? Have you sent news to her guards?” Absently he straightened the rings on his fingers. 

“All intercepted.” 

“So that means someone very close to this empress is the assassin.” He suddenly sneered as he looked into the fire. “I do detest such spineless traitors.” He supposed he would have to…He swallowed the bile in his throat…He had to save the country of maggots. 

The trio awaited, holding their breaths as the Inquisitor watched the flames in thought. Then his eyes moved to the red cloth sitting upon the table. It just screamed: SHEMLEN. It bristled him. Surely they did not expect him to dress up like a some shemlen monkey? 

“I suggest you start procuring use some invitations, Ambassador.” Banal said though his voice dripped with unhappiness and anger. He heard a collective sigh come from the three. 

“I have already spoken with Duke Gaspard. I am certain he will see the tactical advantage of inviting us as his guests.” She nodded with a pleased smile on her face. “Now,” She looked down at her board making Banal’s eyes narrow at her. He could sense he wasn’t going to like what she said next. “We should begin preparations for the ball.” 

“Preparations? What preparations?” Banal growled. 

“My dear, this isn’t some Ferelden feast that you just show up to. This is a Grand Masquerade in the Winter Palace. The eyes of the entire Empire will be upon you.” Vivienne cooed as she waved for the seamstress to start measuring again. “It is of the upmost important that you are prepared.” 

“Enchanter,” He hissed, glaring the seamstress into averting her eyes and not moving from her spot, “What could have possibly possessed you to believe I would care for your shemlen customs?” He stood up to his full height, a snake ready to bite. “I know perfectly well how to behave at a court, shemlen.” 

“Do Dalish have some sort of court that we don’t know about?” Dorian quipped, turning the attention to him. Banal snorted. 

“I doubt those elves would even know what court is let alone know how to act in one.” Dorian rose an eyebrow at that. “Let us suffice to say that what the Orlesians call The Game, I know how to play it.” 

“Ah but do you know how to dance?” Dorian noted with the best charming smile he could manage. Banal’s face remained emotionless. 

“I can dance, but I doubt they would be similar to your shemlen dances.” 

“My dear, if you are to represent the Inquisition and represent it well, we cannot have you look like some backwater servant.” Vivienne cut in. Banal’s face instantly turned hostile. How curious, Dorian thought, just Vivienne’s voice seemed to ignite his fury. 

“What Lady Vivienne is trying to say, Inquisitor, is you must learn how to conduct yourself properly in the human court if we are to be successful. That means learning to use the right silverware, the right dances, how to walk the right way…” Banal tuned the Ambassador out as he walked to the red cloth. 

Carefully, as though the thing was Blighted, he picked up. It was a shirt with golden embellishments and some of the oddest shoulders he had ever seen. His brow furrowed as he looked it over. Beneath it was a blue sash of sorts and dark trousers. Surely they did not expect his to wear such a hideous thing? He had already burned the ‘uniform’ the gave him for wearing around Skyhold, instead opting to stay in various armors. 

His distaste must have showed because Josephine stopped her listing for a moment. “It is imperative we show unity and our prowess.” 

“And this…” He motioned in a disgusted manner to the military garment, “shows that?” He snorted loudly, “I’m the Inquisitor, Josephine, and you wish to dress me up as a shemlen general?” 

Josephine blinked. She had never quite thought about how this might be insulting to an elf who strove to be just that: an elf. Not a being that thought himself lower than a human, but one who knew of the time when elves not humans ruled Thedas. “I had not considered…” 

“Is this even fireproof?” He asked. Before any of them could answer, the hand that was holding the garment burst into flames. “Apparently not.” Banal dropped the garment, knowing his flames would only eat the monstrosity. Josephine’s mouth hung open while Vivienne just glared her disapproval. Dorian blinked. 

“Well that was a waste…” The Altus mumbled. Banal didn’t hear him though. 

“If I go to Halamshiral, it will be as an Elvhen, not some pointy eared shemlen.” He told them with his head held high, the chains dangling on his ears making the only noise in the now dead silent room. 

The seamstress stared horrified at her mistress’s creation now smoldering ash. “Can we even make a new one?” Josephine asked frantically. 

The young human shook her head. “My mistress is booked for the Ball…” 

Banal took note at how frantic his ambassador was becoming, mumbling this and that about various tailors. The most he got out of it was that she was frazzled because nearly every half-decent sewer of cloth was making finery for the finest of Thedas to wear at the finest ball of the Season. 

He sighed, growing tired of it. Did she really think that he didn’t have a plan? “Ambassador, I need paper and a quill.” He spoke. It wasn’t in a loud voice, but a normal toned voice that commanded respect. She instantly stopped in her rant. 

“What for?” She eyed him suspiciously. He never wrote letters. He couldn’t. But Banal waved away her suspicions. He strode to her desk and sat down behind it. Dorian exchanged a look with the Ambassador, like they were watching a predator watch them. 

“For a letter, what else?” 

“You can’t even read the trade tongue,” Vivienne scoffed “who in the world could you possibly write to?” 

Banal narrowed his eyes slightly at her. “I’m not writing to a shemlen, Enchanter.” He spat. “Paper, quill, where?” His acidic tone made Josephine jump and hurry around to show him where she kept such things in her drawers. 

Very soon Banal took the quill in his left hand and began writing. The humans looked in bewilderment at the script. It looked alien, ancient even. Dorian had seen a few elven artifacts with such script before, but the entire page was being filled with it. 

Banal frowned while he was writing. His hand stilled for a moment. Not because he forgot, rather because the Dalish didn’t know elven as well as he. He had to dumb things down quite a bit then. He didn’t do dumb. 

_Aneth era Keeper Deshanna_

 _I hope this letter actually finds you. I must apologize for not writing to you sooner and that I must make this short. Seems there is far too much to do, and little time for me to do it._

 _

No doubt you have been told that I am Inquisitor of this shemlen Inquisition now. As such, I am required to attend to things I would rather not. So many of these shemlen call me the Herald of their prophet, forgetting that I am Elvhen. 

However, sometimes I find myself having to, in order to fit the role given to me. I just been told I must attend this Ball in Halamshiral. I remember this end of the journey from our talks not long after your Clan found me. Quite frankly, I’d love nothing more than to take the land back from this Empress Celene and Duke Gaspard, but that is not my purpose for going there. 

Still I find myself bristling at the idea of playing the shemlen Game. I do not wish to be a shemlen, what you called flat-ears perhaps, and yet if left to my advisors that is what I will be. I am sure you can understand why this very notion revolts me. 

These shemlen tailors, people of crafts make fine things for humans. But if I am to go to Halamshiral, it will be as an Elvhen, and thus I write to you. Surely your People would be best suited for this task so that I may be the best representative I can be. I understand that times are harsh, especially for a wandering Clan, but the Inquisition’s reach is far and I can assure you and any Clan who wishes to help any materials or any boon you may ask of me. 

And if you are not moved by this, then I shall invoke vir sulevanan for the craft of the Old Ways. You may ask me of any task. 

I await your reply, 

Banal

_

He read through it once he was done. Satisfied with the amount of pride-coaxing and prodding in it, he made the ink dry with a miniscule fire spell before folding it. He poured the wax into a near perfect circle and pressed Josephine’s Inquisition stamp into it. 

“Send this to Clan Lavellan.” Banal muttered as he stood up. Her eyes widened. 

“Inquisitor there is no way they could possibly—“ She started. However she snapped her mouth closed when Banal lifted his hand. 

“I have requested aid from all the Dalish Clans. Well all the ones that can be found anyway.” He paused to slip from the desk. He had a very confident air to him, calm and peaceful as though he knew they wouldn’t deny him anything. And they wouldn’t. If he so wished, he could gather all the Clans into a collective army with him as their leader. That thought made him smirk. 

“But there is still no way they could craft and send what we need in time for the Ball.” She was frantic inside. Her outside was only slightly frazzled. Banal snorted once more. He was obviously enjoying the sight of flustered Josephine. 

“Do not underestimate those elves, Ambassador. Besides, we received the Red Hart from a Dalish Clan in Orlais yes? With the war going on, I would hazard a guess there is at least one Clan that cannot wander about. Deshanna might know where we can look and send us a letter of introduction. Simple.” He shrugged and began to walk about. 

“Where are you going, darling? There is still much to be done.” Vivienne stopped him. His back went rigid. Barely turning his head to look at her he spoke. 

“You two should go collect your things.” Dorian’s heart stopped. This is the moment both of them get the boot to the ass. What for? Dorian couldn’t think of anything he had done that would warrant the elf’s wrath. Of course, it seemed that very little could invoke his wrath. “We are headed for the…” Banal paused trying to recall the name. “The Fallow Mire, I believe is what you shemlen call it.” 

“A bog?” Both of the mages said with the same look of disbelief. Banal turned around just to see how disgruntled the mere notion of going to a marsh made them. 

“Yes, a bog. The Shemlen Commander reported some of our men have been captured by A-var? Ah-var?” Banal furrowed his brow trying to pronounce the word. He had never learned it before like many other words, making his Elvhen tongue stumble over it. 

“Avvar, Inquisitor. Barbarians from the mountains.” Josephine gently explained. 

“Avvar…” He made a face like the sound and taste of the word on his tongue was rank. “These shemlen barbarians are holding them hostage in the Mire and want me to make an appearance.” 

Dorian frowned. He wasn’t happy about going to a bog, but he supposed it was for a good cause. It wasn’t like he could deny the Inquisitor after all. Still…he was going to need a week long bath to get the muck, stench, and grime off. And an entirely new wardrobe. 

“You going some place at the bequest of others?” Dorian quipped. “I think I might just faint at the very thought.” 

Banal’s lips twitched slightly. “I go merely because my pride requires me to. I will not tolerate some shemlen thinking he can best me. It is best that I go and show these Avvar no man can best me.” 

*****

“Inquisitor? Oh Inquisitor!” Dagna yelled as she caught sight of Banal descending from his room. Her energy knew no bounds apparently, and she never knew when to give up. Even when she was faced with the monumental task of figuring out Banal’s powers and how to safely channel them through objects. 

“Yes, Arcanist?” he said with his normal attitude. She was expressive and happy enough for the both of them. The dwarf bounded up to him with a huge grin. He automatically knew what she was going to say. “You finished it?” He quirked an eyebrow. 

By now every noisy noble was listening in, eyeing them as they wondered what the two were up to. The number of rumors flying around the fortress was astonishing. Everything from they were creating some epic dragon slaying rune to some odd attempt at romance. Apparently shemlen had nothing better to do. 

“Yes just a little while ago! Of course it is just a prototype, but Varric said you all were going to the marsh, so I thought it’d be a perfect opportunity to test it out in real situations.” As she talked she began to head back to the Undercroft. Banal couldn’t help but smirk darkly as he followed. 

When they got down to the smith’s area she bounced over to a Seer’s staff. Veridium gleamed around the crystal in the center leading into a hilted grip and an Obsidian Enchanter blade. It wasn’t anything like his old staff, but he could hardly be picky now could he? 

“My, my, where did you find this schematic?” He asked as he picked up the staff. It felt sturdy, solid, metal. 

“Don’t know. Leliana just gave it to me.” Dagna shrugged. “There’s just one more thing to do.” Banal’s eyes shifted from the crystal to her. “You need to pick a rune.” 

“A rune?” Didn’t the thing have enough runes? After all it was meant to hold more of his power away from his body. 

“A rune! I made up a couple for you to choose. It’ll complete the circuit and use your power to energize it.” She wandered over to her bag and began rummaging. “Let’s see here…We got a spirit rune…a cleansing rune…a demon-slaying one…and oh a corrupting one I made from some red lyrium.” She placed them all on her table. She turned to him with a smile. “Can’t do fire ‘cause it’s a staff but take what you can get.” 

Now if you were Banal which would you chose? The Corrupting one of course! His eyes fell upon the one that glowed red. It was twisted and dark, reaching out to devour everything whole, swallowing the light. 

“Somehow I figured you’d go for that one.” Dagna giggled as she picked it up. Banal held the staff as she worked her dwarven magic. Soon he felt a pulse shoot through his hand. Like holding another heart. He felt it reach inside him, sucking and pulling his magic into it. 

Dagna took several steps back as what looked like black ink started to swell around the staff. It wrapped itself around the metal, little lightning arching off the edges. It was an oppressive feeling, like the darkness was pressing in on her from all sides. Slowly the crystal turned pitch black with a purple glint, the black settling into her runes. Even the red of the corruption rune turned black, little veins snaking up to the head of the staff. 

Then the oppression subsided and she let out a shaky breath. Banal was turning his new staff around, admiring how his darkness shifted colors. “It held more than I had expected.” He noted. 

“Really?” her voice squeaked a little. So that’s why she felt it… “Well, that’s good right?” 

His eyes flickered to her before settling on his staff. “We shall see how it holds up to combat.” She nodded, eager to figure out this problem. So far she had several theories to Banal’s powers. One was that by being directly connected to the Fade by this Anchor, he was able to draw more magic to himself, which wasn’t good. It was sort of like an amplifier, and a catalyst (that’s what the weird Rift Mage called it anyway). Which was good when it came to sealing giant holes in the sky. Bad when it came to his health. 

Another theory was hard to prove. Two magics, his and the Anchor’s, were combining. And seeing as the release of the Anchor’s magic levelled a mountain, Banal’s magic was growing far more unstable as it fused with the foreign magic. Again, bad for his health. 

A slightly wacky theory was that he was a really powerful mage to begin with. Like super powerful. Like near God-hood powerful. But she highly doubted that. Then there was the ever popular dragon’s blood theory that floated around Skyhold for a few weeks. And the blood mage theory. And the demon theory. 

She quickly shook her head to dispel her thoughts. None of those had any basis in fact. And he was heavily monitored for any sign of corruption despite being Inquisitor, though she got the feeling he _allowed_ them to monitor him. 

“Well Dagna, I shall give you a full report once I return.” Banal nodded to the dwarf before making his way back to the Grand Hall. 

One of Leliana’s people approached him with a letter. “Sister Leliana said you wanted this as soon as it came in.” He handed Banal a small letter that had already been opened. He sighed loudly. Did she really think the Keeper would respond in the trade tongue? Or that by some miracle she could read elven? The stupidity and naivety of humans knew no bounds apparently. 

“Ma serannas. Do tell the Spy that I would refrain from opening my letters in the future.” Banal hissed as he dismissed the scout. He took the letter out and began to skim the page. The necessary formalities, blah, blah, they would be happy to aid him, blah, something about pride, blah and there. She directed him to seek out Keeper Hawen in the Dirthavaren; he had agreed to help. Then there was something about other Dalish Clans sending gifts to the Inquisition as best they could. And she ended with a rather serious tone about not letting the shemlen corrupt him. 

He nearly laughed. It was the other way around actually. But no matter. He folded it back up and headed for the war room. His companions were all busy preparing for the trek to the marsh, but his advisors were preparing for his absence. 

Josephine looked up from her papers as he entered her office. “Are the other two there already?” He asked. She nodded and quickly gathered her things as she accompanied him into the large room. When he first saw it he had nearly laughed at the irony. 

The large chandelier was made to look like the branches of trees, the table set up on a large oak stump. Here was the center of Tarasyl’an, a mighty tree, the protector, one of the trees that held up the sky so to speak. And here he was, ordering armies about, thinking how best to bring down the sky. If walls could speak… 

Without so much as a greeting to the other two, Banal began to shift pieces around. He grabbed one of the Commander’s chess pieces, placing it over the Dirthavaren, the Exalted Plains as the shemlen called it. He recalled very little of the modern history, but he knew the place well. 

“Send scouts ahead; I want those communication lines back up.” Banal muttered to the Commander. 

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Cullen nodded. For all the elf’s faults, he certainly knew how to command an army. And the human couldn’t help but respect that. Even if he was a little suspicious on how the elf came to such a skill. 

Banal stared at the piece. He remembered the place as a lush forest, buildings crafted to look like trees. But more than that…one of Falon’Din’s temples was there…It wasn’t one of the bigger ones, not like the one he lived in. Still, it pained his heart to recall the past. He wondered what had become of it…When he woke up from his sleep, he wasn’t were he should be and his possessions were gone. He wondered if that little temple, the one guarded with puzzles was where he had originally laid… 

He felt a connection just staring at the spot. Even without wondering, he could tell something of his was there. Finally he looked up at his advisors. “I have a…” he paused, for a moment to take a breath. “a request, if I may, Commander?” 

Cullen blinked. Banal never asked for anything. Commanded, demanded, but never requested. For a moment, his mind spun as he shared a look with Leliana. “O-of course, Inquisitor.” 

“There was this…grove in that area.” Banal traced the area where the place should be on the map. “If we could spare some scouts to find it, I would be…grateful.” Banal nearly choked on the words. 

“What is it that you wish to find there, Inquisitor?” Leliana asked after the three got over their shock. 

Banal glared at her before tossing his letter on the table. “The Dalish have agreed to help us. And while this Keeper Hawen had not asked for something in return, I do always reward those who help me. Whether it is a good reward or a bad one is up for interpretation.” Banal snorted. From the small time he spent with the Dalish, the only thing they coveted was knowledge. The little bits of history they had managed to keep from shemlen. As such, he knew of only one reward that would suffice. 

“And this reward is in the grove?” Banal blinked coming back to the war room. 

“No it is in a temple, but it’s only accessed by that grove.” He then looked back down at the war table. 

“I will send Scout Harding to investigate it for you, Inquisitor.” Leliana nodded. The three humans felt they had just passed a major obstacle. The mighty Inquisitor, with his hatred for shemlen, had asked them to help him in some way. Cullen let out a long breath, he was still sure the little elf was going to get revenge, but he hoped in the time between then and now he’d manage to lessen it somehow. 

“Ma serannas, Spy.” He muttered as he began to show interest in the other markers on the table. He listened as the three read the reports to him. He considered each one carefully, choosing his battles per say. He had Josephine to secure aid from Orzammar, and Leliana to look into Dorian’s reports of Venatori. He then relayed other tasks for them to accomplish while he was away. 

Mostly it was securing more trade, satisfying foreign powers with aid, and of course continuing the repairs on the fortress. When they were finished, Banal told them he would stop by Tarasyl’an before he headed for the Exalted Plains. 

And with that he gathered his companions and headed for the haunted marsh, quite happy to put the frigid mountain air behind him. 

***** 

“You had a mark before the Mark.” Cole’s voice cut through the air as he appeared next to Banal. They had stopped for the night. The tents were all set up in their circles, guard duties arranged, and dinner was being cooked. Not that Banal cared much for the latter. 

Unlike most of their little band who jumped ten feet in the air at Cole’s sudden appearance, Banal barely acknowledged him with a glance. 

“But you don’t remember what it was for. Just that it made you…less.” Cole stared at him with his big innocent eyes while the Inquisitor just continued tending to his armor. Everyone however was watching them, wondering what the spirit was talking about. Another mark? “Dark ink faded, but shame and guilt remained. It caused you pain too, but not the physical kind. I like this Mark better.” 

Banal snorted. In truth his heart stopped, recalling that mark that was still on his hand when he woke up. It was so old the ink had long faded, leaving only a scar behind. But whenever he looked at it…he couldn’t remember where it came from. He supposed the Void took that memory too. 

Cole seemed to be listening to Banal as he fell silent. Banal could feel a sickly white feeling start to probe his mind. Unconsciously, he hissed. “I suggest you _help_ someone other than me, Compassion.” Fire was beginning to ignite inside his skull at the feeling. 

“But…white struggles against the black, strangling, suffocating, swirling into a ball of black, battling magics beneath the skin. It wants out.” Cole’s eyes fixate on the white streak, making Banal touch it. Slowly the light receded from his mind as the spirit found something new to try and fix. 

“I happen to like the black.” Banal hissed, knowing no one else would really understand this conversation. Much like any conversation with the spirit really. 

“But the black hurts you. Bruises blossom, black battering blood till it’s nothing too. It’s…like a war inside you.” Banal snickered, feeling confusion spread through the camp. 

“Exactly. And you can’t contain a war.” 

“No but you could end one.” Cole tilted his head again. Banal sighed…why did he agree to have a spirit of Compassion follow him around? Oh right because the Seeker and Enchanter and the loud Elf all became jumpy around him. And he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to make them skittish. “You don’t care if you die…so long as—“ 

“Enough!” The fire suddenly turned blue and climbed to the sky. He could hear Bull and Varric cursing about him burning the food. It wasn’t like Banal was going to eat anyway. 

The white inside his skull was pulsing painfully, and Cole’s presence was just making it worse. He understood it was a part of the spirit’s nature, and to deny that part of him would turn him into a demon. So he took a deep breath, calming the fire. 

His voice was quiet when he spoke, “I do not want your help with my personal things, Cole.” 

The spirit furrowed his eyebrows as those words severed the connection he had created. With that Banal disappeared into his tent like he did almost every night. Cole just stared in confusion. “I just wanted to help. Did I hurt him?” He asked as Varric came up to him. 

“Nah, Smiley’s just not the kind of person who accepts help easily. Or wants change.” Varric shook his head. “Give it awhile, kid, before you do your weird mind trick thing again, preferably not during dinner though. Maybe start with something small.” Varric clapped the spirit on the shoulder. 

“Something small?” 

“Yeah, like…his aversion to food.” 

***** 

The Fallow Mire was much like Banal’s Marsh. Damp, murky, filled with dead people, gloomy, but still beautiful. There was something about marshes that were breathtaking to him. Maybe it was how moonlight filtered through the mists, or how the air seemed to be a star filled sky at times. 

Banal took a deep breath, filling his lungs with moist air that stunk of disease. It wasn’t his Marsh. But it was close. He gathered a small team to begin the trek into the undead-infested bog after being debriefed. He didn’t really care who came with him, but some of his companions were more keen to come than others. 

Cole of course wanted to help. Sera was scared shitless of all the spirits. Varric didn’t have much of an opinion aside from the bog was going to ruin another set of good boots. Bull didn’t like the idea of all the demons, but if he got to hit them he didn’t care. Cassandra and Blackwall had about the same opinion of rescuing the soldiers was the only thing that mattered. Dorian and Vivienne complained about the muck. And Solas was quietly watching Banal. 

So he took Cole, Blackwall, and Dorian with him to scout the way ahead for another place to camp. It didn’t take long for them to hit undead. Well to be fair, they didn’t hit the undead. 

An undead literally sprouted from the ground and gripped Banal’s ankle. He of course didn’t flinch, but looked down at the emerging corpse with contempt. The kind of contempt you would give someone who you bumped into and got mud on your shoes. 

With barely anytime for the group to ready themselves, Banal slammed his staff blade through the arm. Odd words came from his mouth, a green light shining around the blade. Slowly a mist came from the creature, the body becoming limp before Banal shattered the hand gripping him. 

“It was scared…” Cole muttered. “It was trapped and you released it.” 

“Right…What was that?” Blackwall asked. The amount of weird magic Banal could do was frightening. And now suddenly he can kill undead with words? Right. Not strange at all. 

Dorian blinked. “I do believe that was an expulsion spell, yes?” He had read it was possible to expel spirits from bodies, but only if there was some sort of binding you could disrupt. Of course, it wasn’t impossible to perform the spell against a non-bound creature, just significantly harder. 

Banal smirked as he turned to them. “So that Necromancy book of yours wasn’t just for show.” He snickered. Dorian frowned. He couldn’t win with him. Either he gave back-handed compliments or flirtatious insults. It was rather tiring trying to keep track. “Garas.” He motioned for them to continue towards the rickety docks. 

After fighting a few more undead and walking a bit, Banal stopped to peer at the water. He could see bodies hidden in their depths, or rather sense them. Spirits were in the waters, whispering gently to his ears. They were drawn here for some reason, or perhaps trapped since they shoved themselves into decaying bodies. 

“What could possibly be riveting about the water?” Dorian muttered. Banal snorted. 

“They sleep to avoid the world that looks wrong…” Cole muttered. 

“Precisely so, Cole.” Banal noted. “So I suggest you three avoid touching the water. Let the dead rest.” 

“Us three?” Blackwall cocked an eyebrow. 

Banal snickered as he took a step forward off the docks. The two humans’ hearts stopped as a single ripple spread from where the balls of his feet touched. They awaited bodies to sprout up. But an odd blue-purple slight wrapped around his legs. 

Dorian blinked, sensing magic and a substantial quantity too. Then Banal stepped completely off the docks, but rather than the loud splash they were expecting, nothing happened. He just floated on the top of the water, with a smug grin on his face. 

“I have no fear from these waters.” 

Dorian’s eyes widened. The elf just kept becoming more and more curious to him. “Fascinating, how do you do that exactly?” 

Banal chuckled, “I might so inclined to teach you…in calmer waters.” 

“Is that so?” Dorian found that hard to believe really. Banal’s smirk became devilish, as frightening as it was alluring. 

“It would be interesting to see if a shemlen could learn it.” 

***** 

Dorian blinked at the sight before him. They had found a decent camp spot to wait out the dreaded mugginess of the day hours ago. Most of them, Dorian included, set up their tents and decided to crash from pure weariness. Cutting paths through undead and demons, trudging through thick marsh mud will do that to a person. 

The Altus had only woken up from his death-like sleep by the nagging urge to piss. The camp was quiet, some scouts keeping lookout while everyone slept. He hadn’t noticed while he was walking to find a relatively private place, but when he came back, stretching his sore muscles, he saw a peculiar sight. 

Banal, sitting on a rock not far from the camp passed the little cave, hunched over something. Didn’t he ever sleep? Briefly he wondered if the Anchor induced insomnia or if the man just had chronic nightmares. After all, demons were attracted to power, and Banal had more power in more ways than one. 

But the fact that the Inquisitor was up wasn’t odd. It was odd to see him entirely focused on something with his back to the camp. Usually he picked a place where he could watch the camp as well as the surroundings, like a hill or tree. 

Dorian would admit to a healthy dose of curiosity coming to his mind. It didn’t help that he barely knew anything about the man, and he was so damn confusing. Did he realize the mixed signals he gave out? Hot and then cold, flirting and then threatening. 

It seemed the human wasn’t going to get any more sleep; all his weariness had seeped into his bones, but the amount of bugs, rocks, and what have you would take a while for him to get used to. Dorian sighed, missing his warm bed already. Why did he sign up for this adventuring? Oh wait…noble Crusade against a crazed magister set on world domination. Riiiight. 

Carefully Dorian walked to the elf, seeing as no one else was up that didn’t turn their noses up at him. “Mind if I join you?” He called out several feet away. The elf’s back tensed before he looked over his shoulder. 

Banal narrowed his eyes, wondering what the human wanted. Without really answering, he waved his hand to another rock not far from him. Steam rose quickly from the surface. Dorian guessed that was a sign that he should take a seat. That was when Dorian noticed the rain that was constant here…evaporated before it touched the elf. 

As Dorian walked closer he got a blast of pure heat. Then it disappeared back into the cold of the South, minus any unnecessary moisture. Banal watched him with intensity of watching a mortal enemy before he turned back to the book in his hands. 

“Is there something you needed, Magister?” Banal stopped for a moment. “Ir abelas, _Altus_.” He corrected with a half smirk. 

“Just curious as to what has our Inquisitor so enraptured.” Dorian kept his tone light, though a tad sarcastic. 

“And here I was expecting you to complain that the ground was hard, or that the bugs were too loud.” Then in a soft whisper that Dorian wasn't quite sure he heard right. "Or that your tent was too lonely." 

Dorian chuckled, “The elf plays dirty.” Banal snorted as he continued to…draw? Dorian furrowed his eyebrows spying something in his hand. “Are you drawing?” 

Banal gave him a disinterested look. “No I’m syphoning your soul. This is just a conduit.” 

“We are rather snappish in the morning aren’t we?” Dorian cocked an eyebrow. Banal took a deep breath. He had to muster every ounce of patience that he feed into his book to use on this human. Miracle of the century right there. 

“No, I just detest obvious questions.” He explained before raising his head and looking at the human. “But, yes I am drawing.” 

The elf looked down at his art and seemed content to leave it at that. “May I see?” Banal sighed. He hated travel companions. So far he had been able to not let anyone know. The last thing he wanted was to attract attention. Especially since these journals were so he wouldn’t forget anything. It was a habit he took up long before he was killed the first time. There’s just so much an immortal could remember. 

At one time, he had shelves and shelves of his journals, some with writing others with just drawings. Some had a combination of the two. He doubted many of them survived this long without his magic to protect them. Vhena loved to look through them, to paint them on the walls though he hated it when she did that. His heart gave an odd twinge. 

“Why?” Banal gave a suspicious look from the corner of his eyes causing Dorian to give his best friendly smile. 

“Art is meant to be viewed and appreciated, is it not?” Reluctantly Banal handed over the book. He had been drawing one of those beacons originally but he had ended up detailing everything else as well. Right down to the reflection of the water and the mist. Dorian blinked at the red pastel drawing. It was beautiful, though it was obviously sketchy. The human turned back a few pages. There was a picture of Skyhold’s training yard with Cullen, or at least he was the only one Dorian could think of that wore that much fur on their shoulders. Another page was the mountains from no doubt Banal’s room. He had been fixating on the drawings, he had barely heard the Inquisitor’s answer. 

“It’s to remember.” Banal stated quietly. Dorian paused to look up at the dark elf. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Art is to remember, not necessarily to be appreciated. Sometimes art holds images we do not want to see, but we need to see, to remember.” Banal spoke slowly. It was hard for him to put the elven into the trade tongue, more than that he had to choose his words carefully. No need to let it slip his age was greater than all of the Inner Circle’s combined… 

Dorian blinked. That was surprisingly philosophical of the moody elf. “And I take it, you draw to remember?” 

Banal nodded slowly. “At my…age,” He used the word very lightly, “your memory…You can’t expect to…” He furrowed his eyebrows, getting frustrated quickly. Dorian kept a chuckle from escaping seeing the man struggle with words. Banal gave a loud sigh. “There is much I don’t remember, I have…gaps.” _partially due to dying and my soul being eaten by the Void…_ He thought in his head. “Not just what happened at the Conclave, but…my childhood, most of my teenage years, parts of my early adulthood.” 

The human wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. He tried to think of how it would feel to not have any recollection of his childhood, or most of his life for that matter. And he couldn’t. It would be like suddenly waking up and not knowing he was Dorian, son of Magister Halward Pavus, mage of the Circle of Vyrantium…Which was hard to imagine. Much of his life revolved around those facts. 

Yet Banal apparently only could remember a few years of his life. Well maybe seventeen since he apparently remembered his daughter quite well. Still, the man was at most in his thirties and couldn’t recall _anything_? 

“For someone who’s killed as many people as you, you are remarkably sentimental.” Dorian quipped. He wasn’t good at comfort. Witty remarks, that was his specialty. Banal blinked at him. For a moment, Dorian was worried he had offended him. Just by watching the Inquisitor and Vivienne go at each other, or that match with Cassandra, he knew this was one man he didn’t want to end up on his bad side… 

But then Banal chuckled. “Old age will do that to you, I suppose.” Dorian nearly sighed with relief as the Inquisitor took his book back and started to draw again. They chatted, or well Dorian asked questions and Banal replied either in sarcasm or cryptic remarks, for a while before one of the agents interrupted with a message. 

Even after Dorian went back to his tent, he found himself smirking. Somehow it felt like he had managed to cross a wall with the Inquisitor. He still perplexed him, but that was all a part of his charm wasn’t it? 

***** 

Banal held up a hand, signaling for them to stop. The rain pelting them, the thunder, the bugs and the constant whining noise of the thin Veil made it hard to discern if what he heard was real or not. They were getting close to the Avvar now and his inner general knew better than to believe they wouldn’t be ambushed some time. 

After all, this bog had many opportunities for such tactics. Especially when it was raining and dark as night. The shemlen in his group could barely stop themselves from walking into the water. Luckily for them, Banal could see perfectly. Perks of Elvhen blood. 

His eyes scanned the shadows, looking for one that didn’t belong. His heart beat calmly in his chest as his magic slunk out, tasting the darkness. The rain began to sizzle as it touched him. 

“Is something up, Smiley?” Varric asked. He could see better than the others, but it was obvious that the Inquisitor was gifted with night vision compared to them. Broody and Daisy were the same way; of course Broody could turn into a night light in a pinch…Varric chuckled remembering the one time they were trapped in a pitch black cave and Hawke somehow managed to pester Fenris enough to glow so they could find a way out. 

Banal glanced back, lightning making his eyes become ethereal. “I thought I heard—“ a twig snapped somewhere ahead of them. His head shot to look. His magic stuck on something, stretching as it moved around. “Avvar.” He narrowed his eyes as he reached for his staff. 

His eyes tracked where his magic was. Quietly he let loose a spell, launching the spy into the sky. The amount of despair in the bog fueled his magic, leading the flames to have a purple coloration. 

The other quickly went into position, warriors in front of the mages, while the rogues were to the side. Banal could feel that they were quite happy that they’d found some synergy, but he smiled to himself. They couldn’t account for their wild card: him. 

Banal was quite happy to charge towards the recovering spy, vision turning red as his blood sang. He felt alive as lightning shot down from the sky to hit the large warrior. His heart was steady, his breathing normal even as he gathered flames in his hand. His wicked smile was the last thing the spy saw as he burned to ashes. 

He shot a few bolts of lightning from his staff. It was vibrating slightly as magic coursed through it. It pulsed hard once before shooting out red. The magic struck an archer. The corruption began to eat away at her flesh. She screamed. 

Remind him to give Dagna a raise in pay. 

Blackwall and Cassandra kept the warriors from going after Solas who volunteered to tag along since Dorian had complained to no end about how much he hated the swamp. Varric came to keep the Seeker from murdering Smiley. Cole of course came to help. 

Solas focused on keeping the two warriors, who worked to keep the defenders busy, covered with barriers, Varric on setting up traps, Cole on stabbing them many times, and Banal on just killing as many people as possible. 

Banal ducked a sword, his own blade singing into existence as he cut up. Blood splattered onto him, still warm despite the rain. A scream sounded like thunder as his arm fell to the ground. Mud splashed around his bare feet as he danced around the now one armed man. Almost like he was caressing him, he severed his throat as he whirled to look back at his companions. 

Blackwall and Cassandra were working on an Avvar with a large shield, Cole on an archer and Varric…Banal’s mind froze for a moment. The large bruiser’s eyes narrowed in on the dwarf. Varric fired several bolts at him, but they barely glanced off as the man’s hands tightened around his maul. 

The Inquisitor could tell what he was going to do even before he began to swing the large weapon around like a twister. The dwarf jumped back, sending several shots out at once. But the maul deflected them. As the Avvar got closer, Varric jumped back again. 

Banal didn’t really have time to think. All he knew was one hit from that maul and the dwarf’s head would cave in. 

His body moved without him realizing it, fade stepping forward. His magic pushed out, shoving the dwarf to the side just the maul slammed into Banal’s left arm. A crack sounded through his head, the world slowing down as the momentum began to move him. 

Darkness shot from Banal. It clawed into the Avvar’s eyes. But the force behind the maul still sent Banal flying into the waters like a skipped rock. His head spun, pain coursing through him. White began to color his world, a loud ringing blocking all other noise… 

***** 

Varric wasn’t sure what just happened. One moment he was about to get his brains bashed, and the next he was shoved to the side. He looked up just in time to see Smiley’s black braid swing as he turned material again. And just in time to see that big lug’s maul smash the Inquisitor’s arm. 

Even Varric could tell that that blow broke if not shattered his upper arm just from how deep it went. Then within a second, Smiley wasn’t there and the lug was bleeding around the face; Banal was pretty much tossed to the side like a doll. His body fell over itself a few times before he skidded to a stop…in the waters he said not to touch… 

“Shit, Smiley!” He yelled, half expecting the Inquisitor to pop back up and turn all the Avvar inside out. That’s what he usually did. So, he was going to this time right? He had to. Cassandra and Blackwall were able to glance at the large ripples in the water, but were soon forced into focus again. 

Then came the corpses. They rose up from the waters, dripping with sludge and moss and whatever else is in that marsh. Some of them had sores that were beginning to come off. Other’s had molted skin, while others just looked gross. Varric was going to have a hard time bathing in lakes now… 

“They’re angry…” Cole’s voice shocked the dwarf out of whatever held him. The bruiser had apparently thought Varric dead or unconscious too, and had went to go mess with Cassandra. Cole held Bianca as Varric got up. “He’s angry too, but not for the same reason. It’s white and loud and cold…” 

It took a moment for the dwarf to register who he was. Both their eyes fell on the unmoving Inquisitor. Varric took Bianca back and loaded more bolts into her. He was just getting his second wind…Cole kept the archer busy, dancing in and out of the shadows before burying his daggers into her back. 

Varric popped up and unloaded three bolts into the face of a warrior that was hoping to catch the kid off-guard. He rolled to the ground. “Hey kid, cover me for a minute!” He yelled as he broke a flask and slipped into the shadows. 

The corpses had tipped the balance of the fight in the Avvar’s favor. Solas was too busy trying to keep dead things off himself to throw up barriers for the two warriors who were being bashed at in the front by a giant maul and slashed at by corpses everywhere else. And as unstable as the Inquisitor was, they all had to admit he kept the balance tipped on their side…which is apparent seeing as he’s unconscious and they’re getting their asses handed to them… 

The dwarf tried not to make a lot of disturbance in the water as he got to the dark elf’s side. Blood was mingling in the water from a gash in his forehead. The Mark was glowing brightly with its weird crackling noise, green veins climbing up his arm. But it was at an odd angle. 

“Hey, Smiley, now’s not the time for some beauty sleep.” Varric muttered as he grabbed ahold of the Inquisitor’s coat and dragged him closer to the shore. His chest was still moving so the rogue doubted he wanted to be breathing in swamp water. Especially diseased swamp water. Varric glanced around quickly to make sure nothing was going to attack him. 

Then he pressed down on Banal’s chest, shoving water out of his lungs. The near black liquid sputtered passed his lips, making Varric cringe. He was definitely going to skip this part when he told the story. Just too gross if you knew what was in that water. 

When he was sure his airways was clear, he dribbled some of a healing potion into the Herald’s mouth. “Come on, you’re missing the fight…You’re the Inquisitor, you’re not supposed to be bested by some jughead compensating for something with a giant maul…” 

Then Banal coughed, some of the potion coming back up. Which did not make it taste any better. His eyelashes fluttered before opening to reveal dazed dragon eyes. Varric sighed, at least he wasn’t going to have to call Sparkler to raise their leader. That would have been embarrassing. 

“Glad you decided to rejoin the living…we’re kind of outnumbered at the moment.” Varric quipped as Banal sat up. His arm…he couldn’t move it, but he could feel it. Oh man could he feel it. It was like his bone was replaced with magma. 

But his anger was the most dominant feeling in him. That bloody shit-faced shemlen was going to be boiled alive if he had anything to do with it. Red and then black shaded his vision as he got to his feet. The dwarf was right; the corpses outnumbered his group and that didn’t take into consideration the Avvar bruiser that was still kicking. 

Pain shot through his leg, making him stumble. Varric steadied him. So much for the Inquisitor tipping the scales… 

“Take it easy Smiley; we need help not you dying.” 

Banal quickly took stock of everything. His marked arm was dead at his side, his head was cracked open, his hip was surely fractured, and beyond that Cassandra was being pushed back towards Solas who drank the last lyrium potion he had to freeze an undead. Blackwall was bleeding from his arm, making gripping his shield harder, as he tried to thin the undead. And Cole was doing his best to keep the undead from getting to Banal. 

Varric picked up Bianca again and started to shoot at those who got too close. But Banal couldn’t handle his staff which was somewhere. 

He took a breath, gritting his teeth, as he tried to call into being his spirit blade. A corpse made it passed Cole, raising its blade up. Banal’s heart stuttered for a moment before his instincts kicked in. 

He rose his hand, grabbing the slimy arm. Had he not spent much of his life around dead things he would have gagged at the feeling. Pouring his magic into his muscles, he twisted the arm around, snapping tendons and bones. The blade fell away. But the corpse still clawed and tried to bite him. 

One hit landed on his broken arm. Banal let out a yell, drawing Varric’s attention. Two bolts shoved through the corpses head, making it spin backwards. Banal’s body shook as he grabbed his arm gingerly. He felt mortal, vulnerable. His mind knew he should heal himself, but having such feelings in his heart might prove dangerous. His magic might just try to devour him. 

The rain beat away his heat as he watched the bruiser raise his maul to smash down on Cassandra as she staggered. He could see fear flash in her eyes for just a moment. And that pissed him off. He was should be the only one that could make his companions fear. He was the only thing to be afraid of, the only thing worthy of true terror. That and these shemlen barbarians should not be able to best him, no matter their size. They were _mortal_ they shouldn’t pose a problem to him. 

Yet here he was, a broken arm, unable to heal it because he had felt the Void’s grip again. It had tried to pull him back, to make him be forgotten again…To make him feel mortal. 

Rage pulsed through him, darkness welling up around him. He could feel it bite at him, still tasting the tiny speck of fear. But he didn’t mind. It helped him focus. He hated being the support mage, but Solas was a bit too occupied at the moment. 

He pushed the darkness away from him. He pushed it around Cassandra, hardening it. It was tricky to keep it far enough from her body, even trickier was keeping it under control as she felt the odd sludge-like feel crawl up her spine. 

The maul slammed down. Cassandra shut her eyes as though that would keep her from feeling pain. But it didn’t come. She opened her eyes, finding the bottom of the maul inches from her. 

Magic shimmered in the air, like light in water. Small purple fractures appeared where the barrier was hit. But it remained strong, slowly knitting together. The fact that this was supportive magic didn’t help the feeling of insects crawling all over her. Whatever magic Banal possessed obviously wasn’t meant for this. 

Still she was alive. Cassandra got back to her feet and put all her strength into a shield bash. It knocked the Avvar off balance. The barrier struck out as well, lashing like a whip against his face. 

With the Seeker protected, Banal pushed another portion of his magic over Blackwall and Cole. The spirit shuddered visibly at the magic, but didn’t say anything. Soon Solas managed to cast his own barrier over Banal’s. The two magics bit at each other. They rubbed and clawed, producing some interesting effects. 

The opposing magics sparked wildly. Banal could feel them burn through residual magic in the air before it literally sat the air on fire around the warriors. He pushed it from his mind for the moment, it was interesting but he’d like to think about it when he wasn’t surrounded by corpses. 

His mind blast sent the bodies flying away from him and Varric. He managed to place a fire rune behind him without letting the barriers dissolve or devour his companions. Soon Blackwall helped Cassandra dispatch the bruiser and then it was merely clean up. 

When it was all done, Banal crumbled to the ground. His head was light, dizzy from blood loss and over exerting his magic. It slinked back to him, expended. His body was sore and beginning to fully feel his injuries. His companions were winded too. 

The warriors cleaned their swords before sheathing them. The Seeker was eyeing Banal again. “What…was that?” She asked. She had felt his magic before, but that was entirely different. Solas had little magic left, but he knelt beside the Inquisitor, checking his arm. 

“It’s broken, you don’t need to touch it to know that.” Banal hissed as the slightest touch was like a thousand needles. Solas didn’t seem to pay attention as he started to set it. Banal’s voice was quite strained as he spoke, “That, Seeker, was why I do not play the support mage.” 

Blackwall’s eyebrows went up. “That was you?” He asked. He hadn’t joined the Inquisition when Banal’s powers were so apparent. He had never felt the elf’s magic before. Or he had never realized it as Banal had tasted the Warden’s darkness, which was quite dark by the way. 

Banal snorted, “Yes.” He took a few breaths before drawing his power around him. The shadows covered his arm, his leg, pulsing. It was first cold, numbing. Then it heated, relaxing the pain away. Slowly his body absorbed the darkness, the bones knitting back together. “It is…very hard to control it enough to act defensive or supportive. Even harder when one has not…grown accustomed it my magic.” 

“Accustomed?” Solas asked as he moved to Blackwall. The Warden had taken a corpse’s blade to the bicep. Who knows what could be festering inside? 

“Not everyone finds comfort in the darkness.” Banal chuckled dryly. “Fear, pride, hate, and what have you only makes it more unstable, which makes it harder for me to keep it from attacking you.” Banal shrugged. 

His companions blinked. They now realized that he had good reason not to be a typical mage. Though they found it curious that Banal, sociopathic Banal would care if his magic devoured them. Even more curious was that he had saved Varric… 

But Banal’s mind was far from deciphering why he saved the dwarf. He was trying to figure out why his and Solas’s magic reacted violently. It was like they were two opposing magic types, which was unlikely. Magic was a constantly changing force; there were no opposites. Even fire and ice were basically the same. Necromancy and healing were in fact the same magic. 

Yet this was like polar opposites being forced together. And Solas’s magic was strong enough not to be dissolved…The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes at the other elf. He could think of only a few magics that were capable of that: blood magic like Corypheus used but that would take a tremendous amount; the Anchor which was caused by Fen’Harel’s foci; and then there’s Cassandra’s special brand of non-magic magic. 

Obviously the latter was out of the question, and the first seemed highly unlikely. That left the second, which seemed preposterous…But all that would have to wait. Those thoughts did nothing to quell the anger that was steadily rising in his veins. 

For him to be forced into the support mage role…by humans no less…That Avvar child needed to die, to have his head lopped from his shoulders. And Banal was going to do just that. With a near growl, Banal stood up and collected his staff. He didn’t care who followed, he was going to slaughter the entire marsh if he had to. 

His companions looked at each other, knowing that look of wounded pride (or what they thought was wounded pride) meant a rather gruesome scene was about to happen. But they couldn’t just leave the Herald on his own, so they all followed silently, praying he was still coherent enough to avoid the waters. 

***** 

They were finally back in Skyhold. After a terrifying display of necromancy and a beheading (and oddly a recruiting of an Avvar), they were back at Skyhold. Banal was forced to be thoroughly checked by a physician as a result of swallowing some diseased water. Literally forced. Cassandra got Bull to hold the little elf down and keep him from punching the doctor while the Seeker kept up a dispel ward. 

It was a rather funny sight until Banal proved that however good the Ben-Hassrath was at fighting, Banal was better. Varric wasn’t sure what happened exactly, though he got the feeling the elf somehow seduced (or terrified) the Qunari into dropping his guard for a fraction of a second that ended with Bull on his backside and Banal with a smug grin on his face. Or at least that’s what Varric was going to write if he even wrote this story. 

As for the rest of the team, they spent their temporary rest cleaning themselves. Vivienne and Dorian had to throw away a few of their outfits merely because “they were ruined beyond all repair from the Ferelden muck”. 

In the rare moments Banal got to be out of Josephine’s sight, he took the time to visit each companion separately, gleaning as much information out of them as questions could, and taking the rest with his magic when it allowed. He met other members of the Chargers like Stitches and Rocky. 

Why? Because Banal’s military mind knew that it was far better to know your allies than your enemies. It offered insight into their minds. Bull for example was very…blunt, nonchalant about mass killing, Banal would even go so far as to describe him as devoid much like a sword to be used. Sure the Qunari joked, but apparently those under the Qun are very…emotionless. But it still told Banal a lot about him. 

He was a good soldier that would follow just about any order. But he was also a spy, which lead Banal to be cautious around him, but keep things blunt and quick. Easy to manipulate really as the Qunari allowed himself to be made into a pawn already. Bull also had a fear of demons, of things getting inside his head. So should he betray Banal, Banal was ready with punishment. 

When he was not finding his companions’ weaknesses, he was busy with deciding how best to furnish Skyhold. The main hall was nearly done, a throne needed to be built, and then there were other trappings to be dealt with like the drapery, and his own bedroom. While the bed was spacious enough, it was…rustic at best. 

He took to drawing his old furnishings while Josephine and Vivienne debated over whether something should be considered an option or not. He missed them oddly enough. There was just no beauty or art where shemlen construction was concerned. It was to do the job it was intended for and little else. No matter how the Enchanter argued on how her ‘tastes’ were sophisticated or refined, they were still austere to him. 

Which was the dilemma Banal was faced with now. So far all they had decided was that until proper tailors could be found, the heraldry and drapery should be the Inquisition’s. Mainly because Banal wasn’t Dalish and his love of dark tones clashed with the traditional greens. As for his room… 

“What are you drawing Inquisitor?” Josephine suddenly asked, drawing Banal’s attention up to her. He sat behind her desk as she, Vivienne and now Leliana all mulled over the vendor’s drawings. 

Banal’s eyes dropped to the paper he was doodling on finding it…Falon’Din’s bed. Not the one in his main temple, but one that had small steps on either side and beautiful owl and raven imagery carved and gilded on the baseboard. The one with slightly transparent deep blue drapes that shimmered like ice. The Creator did enjoy lavish furnishings… 

“Oh my that is beautiful…” The Ambassador whispered as she looked at it. “Did you design that?” 

Banal shook his head. “I…” He couldn’t quite say that he had seen it before…not when most believed him to be no more than a Dalish from a desert… “It was from an old memory I found in the Fade.” The lie came out smooth enough. After all the best lies had some truth to them. 

The other two came a bit closer, close enough to see the sketch. Vivienne made a scoffing noise while Leliana chuckled. “It seems our Herald has other skills than fighting demons.” Banal snorted. 

“Fighting, Spy, is just as much an art as this.” 

“So you are just a lover of the arts then?” The redhead snickered before waving the vendor forward. “Perhaps we can have this made, no?” She asked the masked man. Banal always wondered why they did not cover their mouths with their masks…If you are trying to hide yourself, hide your mouth as well as your eyes. Those two tell the most tales. 

The man seemed surprised by the ornate scene. “I do not know if we could do this exactly; I do not even know what story this is telling, if it is telling one…Elves like their pictures, no?” 

Banal frowned. “It is no story, shemlen. The owls were a symbol of Falon’Din, and the ravens were Dirthamen’s. There’s a hart and halla in there too, symbols of Ghilan’nain, who was very close to the Twins.” He tapped the picture where the two deer could be seen vaguely. Out of all the Creators, Falon’Din and Ghilan’nain were the only two he could ever stand. 

Unlike the others, including Falon’Din, Ghilan’nain did not believe she was a god by blood. She had humble beginnings and her actions, not nature, rose her to “divine” status. Plus she was rather snarky, a wicked tongue despite her meek appearance. 

The human seemed to think he offended his client as he immediately bowed and apologized many times until Banal rolled his eyes and went back to touching up the scene. Josephine didn’t even comment on the fact that he was drawing over her papers. It wasn’t an important paper after all; she saw no harm in allowing the Inquisitor to releasing whatever ideas he kept silent about. 

“I do believe we may be able to construct this, if that is what Your Worship requests…” The man was still bowing. Leliana and Josephine looked to Banal, though it seemed he had no interest in these sort of things. 

“He would not have drawn the thing, if he did not desire it, my dear.” Vivienne spoke up. She had briefly glanced at the picture and found it…austere but regal enough to be allowed in Skyhold if the vendor managed to take the savage out of the imagery. Perhaps less of a scene and more of a motif…With gilding and silk sheets and embroidered curtains… 

“A suggestion, shemlen, if you will hear me.” Banal spoke to the paper, ignoring the Enchanter completely. She was the only companion he avoided like the Blight. Even after she had rearranged all the furniture in Skyhold, he paid her no mind. She wished to be acknowledged, seen, heard, what have you; Banal would deny her that. 

“Of course, Your Worship.” The vendor’s attention snapped back to him. 

“Whatever you do…” Banal grabbed the drawings he had been given in the beginning, selecting one with a horrendous canopy thing. “Do not do this. If you must make it a four poster bed or no canopy at all. But this, this is horrendous.” 

“As you say, Inquisitor.” The man frowned at Banal’s choice, but soon left with a modest sum of coins to see to his requests. 

“Now, I do believe it is time for your lessons, darling.” Vivienne stepped forward, fixing one of her bracelets. Banal groaned loudly. The shemlen insisted he take lessons before the Ball. _Insisted_. Which is just a kind word for saying they forced him to endure lectures on which fork was for what, key members of the Council, points of history that would be pertinent for him to know, and the list goes on. 

And that wasn’t the worse thing they made him do. He had to ‘learn’ how to dance. With Vivienne. Each time he nearly burned her alive as they went through the steps. Each time he purposely made a mistake like stepping on her shoes or not realizing when he was to support her and whatnot. 

Banal didn’t care that Josephine and Vivienne both thought him about as sophisticated as an average Dalish. He knew this Game better than the both of them. He would dazzle the Court as he always did, stunning entrance and all that. He knew which fork was for seafood and which was for salad. Which spoon was for soup and which was for beverages. The dances were only slightly different from the ones he had learned before (though he couldn’t quite recall when he had learned them). He had no doubt that he would succeed. 

After all, courts were often the darkest places. 

***** 

“Oh, Inquisitor, if I may have a moment?” Cullen said as Banal was passing by the training grounds. The elf paused in his step. If they had just met, Cullen would have worried he had angered the Inquisitor. But that look of neutral disdain was just his face, though the elf bore Cullen no love. 

“I’ll assume this is more than asking me how the troops look.” Banal quipped as he crossed his arms and waited for Cullen to approach him. 

“Of course,” Cullen frowned. “As you do not read the reports, and show no signs of starting, I’d like to go over my report if you have time.” 

“From the Dirthavaren?” One thin eyebrow arched up as a satisfied smirk began on his lips. 

“The Exalted Plains, yes.” Cullen had no idea what that word was and what it meant, but it was rather like the elf not calling Skyhold by its name. Like everything else really… “We managed to reestablish communication lines, but it appears the Imperial soldiers are having troubles with the undead and deserters.” 

Banal nodded thoughtfully. With the amount of magic worked around Falon’Din’s temple alone, the Veil would be incredibly thin, allowing for even amateurs to pull spirits across it. “Can’t say I’m surprised people are having troubles.” 

Cullen furrowed his eyebrows. That wasn’t the reaction he had counted on. “You aren’t?” 

Banal snorted, his wicked smirk alerting the Commander to the sarcasm before it crossed the elf’s lips. “It seems that no one is capable of solving their own problems without my help these days. Perhaps it is some sort of contagion released by the Breach.” Cullen fought to keep his eyes from rolling before the elf sobered. “And the Grove, Commander?” 

“Ah yes, we had a few scouts already in the area and sent them the orders just after you left. They managed to locate it, blocked by a large boulder, just in time for us to send a crew with Scout Harding. They should be finished clearing the rubble by the time you arrive, Your Worship.” 

Banal wondered briefly why there was a stone in front of it…but doubted it would matter much. He nodded once. Their vacation in Tarasyl’an would be over tomorrow it seemed. “Ma serannas, Commander.” Banal gave him a polite bow, not enough to show a deference of power, but enough to show thanks. Then he walked to tell the news to his companions.

***** (A/N: All _italics_ in this section are supposed to be in Elven)***** 

_”So, Solas, I find myself wondering what spirit it is I am agreeing to help.”_ Banal asked as they turned their mounts towards the plains. The bald elf had requested they rescue a spirit friend of his that was forced to come here just as they left Tarasyl’an. Banal, who happened to be in a rather good mood and with a promise of killing people, had agreed. 

Some companions looked over at him oddly for speaking in elven, more so for speaking to Solas. 

The other elf atop his Red Hart, looked in the Inquisitor’s direction. _“A spirit of wisdom, if you must know. Why?”_

_“Curiosity. Not many would wish to save a spirit. After all there’s an entire Fade filled with them.”_ Banal shrugged before continuing. _“But a spirit of Wisdom, yes I can see why you wish to save it. Such a rare being to be seen. I wonder what it might hold.”_

Solas furrowed his eyebrows, not expecting such gentleness to come from the dark elf. Unless he figured he could learn some secret from the spirit. Banal seemed to take note of Solas’s surprise. 

_“Is there a problem, Solas?”_ He cocked an eyebrow. 

_“No, I just did not expect you to be…accepting of the idea.”_

Banal laughed, _“And why not? Do you think you are the only one who talks with spirits? Wanders the Fade? There is much to be learnt from beings outside ourselves and only fools like the Enchanter ignore such wisdom.”_ Solas blinked many times. Not only was the Inquisitor grinning, but he was being rather civil. Everyone was apparently astonished. 

“Smiley, did you hit your head when we weren’t looking? Or did the Seeker somehow manage to make you Tranquil?” Varric quipped. 

“I’d shove her heart out her spine before that happened, Varric. Merely having a conversation with one person with whom I do not have need for this barbaric tongue. Gives me less of a headache.” Banal snorted. Cassandra made some sort of remark, but the Inquisitor quit listening to her. 

_“I am curious, Inquisitor, as to what you have seen in your travels through the Fade. Does the Anchor allow you to remain aware in dreams?”_ Solas asked after they went a little farther. 

Banal snorted loudly. _“I have always been aware in dreams. It is memories I have problems with.”_

_“Our memories are more difficult to control yes. Are spirits more drawn to your Mark?”_ Banal contemplated his answer for a few moments. 

_“Hmmm, I suppose they are. Even when I’m awake I can feel them watching me. I imagine the Mark makes me odd to them, both here and there even when I’m not asleep.”_

_“Or perhaps you appear like a beacon of sorts. Have you found any interesting memories?”_

_"I saw the man they call the Champion face down the Arishok. A spirit of Valor had watched over it. And as the Champion was struck a horrid blow, the spirit lent him his strength for a moment."_

“Freakin…would you two stop being so elfy?” Sera growled. 

Solas and Banal looked at each other with equally fed up looks. “How does one stop being ‘elfy’, Inquisitor? I’m afraid I am not familiar with such a technique?” Solas knew the Inquisitor would be the best at this kind of game. 

Banal snorted. “Perhaps it begins by cutting off our ears. Maybe start adding friggin’ and shite to our friggin’ vocabulary. So we must drop our intelligence levels below that of humans, or even their dogs. Thus we end up like shite bags in some shite city. Oh and we must forget that the friggin’ elfy elves once ruled all of friggin’ Thedas. Humans rule, elves phfft!” Solas chuckled as the dark elf did a rather good impression of their Jenny. Sera seemed less amused however. 

“Oh har-de-har-har. In case you hadn’t noticed, there are no more elven kingdoms! So who’s the shite bag now?” Sera hissed. 

“Truly?” Banal mocked surprise. “My dear Pride, did you hear? There are no elven kingdoms! I think my little dead heart might give out!” 

“Well that could be why we’ve roads to travel on.” Solas snorted. 

Banal sighed as though he were disappointed. “Indeed, I suppose humans couldn’t be expected to have the patience for any other form of travel.” 

“Indeed, they’d be more likely to make the otherworld explode.” 

“That seems like a very human thing to do.” 

“That’s rather uncalled for.” Dorian muttered. “Moreover what other form of travel is there?” 

The two elves shook their heads in what might have passed for a somber fashion. “It would take too long to explain what was lost since Arlathan, Dorian.” Solas said quietly. 

Banal however snorted loudly. “Moreover, and no offense meant, but your countrymen and humans in general have a tendency of trying to copy the Elvhen. And let’s just say somethings are better off lost than in the hands of beings who lack the lifespan to properly wield them.” 

Dorian had to agree with him. After all, his ancestors apparently stole much of the elven ways, and destroyed the rest. And what they stole was used with disastrous consequences. Look at Corypheus and the Conclave. 

They travelled for several miles with only light chitchat to break the silence of hooves against the beaten path. 

“Banal, nothing…but you aren’t nothing. You’re something; you just don’t remember what that something is…I can help.” Cole suddenly started yammering. Banal was about to shut him out but he kept talking. “They aren’t gone, just they aren’t in your head. I can help get them back if you wished.” 

“I’m perfectly fine the way I am now, Cole.” Banal sighed like he was dealing with a child who wouldn’t stop asking why. 

“You think you are nothing because they took it all away. The Sun’s Son took it first, and then the Protector did. The second time hurt more, but you didn’t die from it. You hold the hate inside so there’s something left.” 

“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t just shout my personal affairs to the entire—“ 

“I don’t want to be forgotten.” Banal’s mouth clicked shut as the last coherent thought he had in the Void was voiced. “But you aren’t forgotten. I remember you.” Cole furrowed his eyebrows like he didn’t understand. 

_You’re about two thousand years too late, Cole,_ Banal thought dryly. Solas looked between the two with growing curiosity. He had no doubt being around the Inquisitor was painful for the spirit of compassion. And yet the spirit was drawn most to him. 

Sure Cole sometimes commented on other companions, but the spirit’s eyes would always return to the Inquisitor. Perhaps helping the others eased the tension caused by him as the spirit tried to unravel whatever hurt the elf was hiding. 

However, Cole’s comments were sparking bells inside the apostate’s head. But that was impossible… 

“My actions define me more than my blood.” Cole said in a strong tone, interrupting his thoughts. Solas’s blood ran cold. He knew those words and knew them well. There was no doubt in his head as his eyes rested on the Inquisitor’s back, his throat suddenly dry. 

Banal chuckled, a deep rumble in his throat. “And so my actions did, Cole. They still do.” Suddenly, Solas was once again a young elf with a fire in his heart as he looked up at his two friends. One had light blonde hair and odd aquamarine eyes. The other had the purest black hair falling around his chin and unnerving green eyes. 

They were brothers of a sort. Perhaps more by love than by blood and marriage, though no one knew the Shadow. His eyes met with Solas’s, a smile and a nod, before Elgar’nan stepped forward to address the Elvhen as their new King. Because they put him there. 

Solas knew where that moment lead. It lead to Elgar’nan, Mythal, himself, all becoming considered Gods, Creators. Which they all enjoyed. Save for One, the Shadow, who was not of their “divine” blood, but equal in power. Thus came the Rebellion that ended with… 

Solas’s eyes focused back on the present as Banal kicked his horse to go faster, putting distance between him and the spirit. 

_It ended with you dead…_ He thought. 

***** 

He had to be sure. He _had to_. Surely the Forgotten One could not have survived both the poison and Elgar’nan’s blow. Unless they truly could not die as their followers had thought… 

That thought sent a shiver through him. He remembered watching his two friends war with each other. At the time, he had seen the Forgotten Ones’ depravity as a Blight upon the world; their radical ideas threatened the faith of the Elvhen. They had to be eliminated. 

But his heart still ached to remember the Shadow’s Halls. Exile and loneliness had driven him mad it seemed, to find comfort and pleasure in hatred, pain, all those things most base. The Shadow became a shadow… 

Solas still felt he had made the right decision to betray him, but that did not make the decision any easier to bear. After all, hadn’t they had it right? Their death and torment aside, they were right. 

The Wolf shook his head fiercely as he waited for the Inquisitor to begin to nod off. He had slipped a sleeping draught into the Inquisitor’s cup during diner, making the dark elf’s eyelids become heavy. His head slowly slumped over before an agent gently shook him awake. 

The older woman had an amused smirk on her face as she dragged the Inquisitor up by the elbow and pushed him in the direction of his no doubt lavish tent. Surprisingly the man didn’t talk back and stumbled to his bed. 

Solas took a deep breath. It shouldn’t be too hard to find the Inquisitor. And if he was just Banal, not the Shadow (for the life of him, Solas couldn’t recall his name…as if by erasing his existence, erased all of Solas’s memories), then Banal was just going to have a really strange dream. If not…well Solas really hoped it was the former. 

***** 

_Banal was floating in darkness. This was no memory. This was a dream. He carefully looked around him, confused and yet relieved to not have to revisit old wounds. There was a feeling of familiarity here, a distinctive ringing in his ears from the Fade, and a smell of musk and decay._

 _For a moment, Banal had almost thought himself back at his Temple…_

 _

Then suddenly he felt the Fade shift, like it was water allowing something to walk through it. The Anchor flashed once, reacting to the fluctuating space. His eyes narrowed in on a spot where it was coming from. 

A shimmering light started shaped almost like a wolf the closer it came to him. Banal furrowed his eyebrows sensing another presence forming. Slowly, the light condensed, brightening. Bits and pieces came together into a person shape. With the sound of twinkling glass, the light broke. 

Across from him was someone he knew well. But it couldn't be... Banal’s eyes narrowed into slits. It was Solas he was sure…and yet it wasn’t. Here in the Fade, Banal had other senses, ones that went beyond just tasting the darkness in people’s hearts. He heard a familiar song from the other one’s magic, felt a familiar hum as it reached out and began to shape the Fade to its liking. 

Banal gave a sneer as the scene began to change. How could he have been so blind? Of course the last time he had seen the Dread Wolf, they had both been much younger. And apparently the Wolf had been quite busy after Banal went to sleep. Doing what, he didn’t really know, nor care. 

Solas tried hard not cringe as he felt the true feeling of Banal’s magic. It was sickly, lashing out, crying for nourishment, and ice cold. In the waking world, it was strong, devouring, and burning. But this was a familiar trick. After all, any perceived weakness must be covered and shown as a strength… 

He looked sadly at the Shadow, for there was no doubt now. But as he noticed the feral gaze of the other elf, he quickly hardened his own. There were questions that needed to be answered before actions needed to be explained. Carefully Solas pulled the Fade’s strings, crafting for them the last place they had seen each other, in case there was any doubt in the other’s mind. 

The man glared as he looked around at was surely a familiar place. Bones created the walls, blood flowed in little rivers on either side of the raised dais. He seemed to realize where he was before finally looking to the other person. His bright eyes narrowed more. 

“It has been awhile, Banal’ras.” Solas began. “Last we met, you had far less tattoos.” 

“And you had far more hair.” Banal growled dryly. “Why here? Are you trying to piss me off? Because it’s working.” 

“Because it is familiar.” Solas replied coolly. He could see the murderous cogs working in the Inquisitor’s head. He internally winced. His foci had bestowed his power to **him**. Of all the people it could have, it was him. 

Banal snorted, moving to sit in his throne. He had the air of confidence and of relaxation in his body, but his magic was bristling, coiling to strike. The Fade shimmered around him, a dazzling array of colors, and him, a Shadow, in the middle. “And what is stopping me from tearing your head from your body, Fen? The Seeker told me that a death in the Fade meant Tranquility. I am curious to see if this holds true for ones such as us.” 

Solas suppressed his urge to growl or glare a challenge. The Shadow was always skilled at poking buttons. “I merely came to see you for what you really are, **Inquisitor**.” Solas paused to let his words quit ringing. “Do you even remember who you really are?” 

Banal cocked an eyebrow, “That depends on what you mean. Can we really know ourselves?” He gave a non-committing shrug, dancing as he always did with questions. “I remember you quite well, though. You and your poison.” 

Solas couldn’t help his wince at the accusing and betrayed glare. “Your tyranny had to be stopped.” Was his knee-jerk reaction. 

Banal scoffed. “My tyranny? Last I recall, my people were those who **you** didn’t want, didn’t care for. Those who were too lost or too broken, too wrong to be a part of your world.” He chortled. “They came to me willingly, stayed willingly; I neither bound nor marked them as you did yours. They wished to leave? They could ask and it would be granted.” 

“But they wouldn’t because they feared you and your comrades. You were a wrathful God to them.” Solas returned the glare. 

A loud snort bounced around them. “God? No, I was their leader, their lord and king. My role wasn’t religious, Fen. Sure I suppose I had some religious function, since it was considered an honor to be given to my Temple, and some begged for me to grant them the sweet nothing of Uthenera, but those were simple minded people blinded by your people’s arrogance. Solas is a fitting name for you, da'len, by the way.” 

“And do you truly believe all the death and hatred you spread was not tyranny?” But Banal merely gave his cool I-hate-you gaze. 

“As though you were any better, Fen’Harel.” He whispered, sneering at the arrogance. Even in what? Two thousand years? The Dread Wolf had not changed. Prideful, thinking himself right and all others wrong. “I suggest you leave, Harellan, before I splatter your blood on my floor.” 

Solas however had one question that wouldn’t allow him to. "How? Tell me how?" 

An amused and knowing smirk played on Banal’s lips. “How what? You’ll have to be more specific.” 

“How did you live? I saw Elgar’nan—“ 

"A village and a nest of dragons." 

Solas blinked, not understanding for a moment. But then slowly the Fade shifted under Banal’s magic. The blood rivers turned to the purest water, the decaying bone walls had blooming vines growing around and through them, making it seem far less gloomy. An altar appeared in the center of a room, blood dripping off it, on a round dais, and into the pool it sat in the middle of. Slowly the crystal clear water turned blood red, power pulsing from it as darkness ate it. 

There was a body of a woman with brown hair and what he remembered as Banal’s priestess clothing lying in the pool, blood spilling from her mouth. That was when he saw all the bodies around the room. Women, children, men, elders all had their throats slit, the blood seeping towards the pool. Dragonlings and their mother also lie dead. 

The High Dragon wasn’t very large (either that or the room was quite large) with blue iridescent scales. Her curling horns were broken, large frostbitten wings torn to shreds. She still helplessly tried to lift her head, too little blood left in her to do much. 

Then the scene dissolved away. 

“You sacrificed an entire village to heal yourself?!” Solas couldn’t help the outrage in his voice. The thought sickened him. The man he once called friend was obviously no more if he was willing to commit such an act. 

“I did not.” Banal said smoothly. “My priestess did. Elgar’nan had indeed cut me down. I was in the Void, or part of me was anyway. Left alone, I would have completely crossed over.” It was as though Banal was speaking of a war plan. His eyes stared at the place where the altar had sat before finally raising them to meet Fen’Harel’s. “And those people were not sacrificed. They volunteered. 

“You forget, da'len, that after you killed us all, you wiped everything that was ours away. Including my Marsh.” His eyes narrowed again. “Those closest to my Temple were able to escape Elgar’nan’s wrath easily enough as did those on the very edges. But those in the middle? What did you think would happen when you turned a marsh into a desert? Hmm? People who were used to very little sun were suddenly subjected to blistering heat. Their fertile land turned sulfuric. 

“They were going to die. Because of you Creators,” He spat the word. “They had been cast out once by you, and then you decided to kill them. They made the choice that they’d rather give their lives for me, to spite you who abandoned them, than just lay down a shrivel away like you wished them to do.” 

Solas still sneered, despite him wondering if what the man said was true. “And the dragons?” 

Banal settled back in his chair. “High Dragons have very potent blood. Part of it was used to strengthen my body so no more of my soul was torn, the rest was used to fuel the spell.” He shrugged. Of course the priestess had sent her soul into the Void to drag him out, and therefore became ensnared by it instead…But that was her choice at least, to die in his place. 

Solas scoffed, “That it explains your lust for battles.” Having his body strengthened by dragon’s blood would certainly do that to a person. Just look at Bull. 

“Now if we are done here…” Banal ignored him. 

Solas did the same. “I wonder what the Inquisition would do if they found out their beloved Herald was in fact an abomination?” Banal’s eyes narrowed once more. Was he really threatening him? Solas in fact was. After all, this was no longer the man he once knew. Such a powerful blood rite could not have left him wholly himself. And Solas had sworn to protect this world, to fix his mistakes. 

But then Banal started to laugh joyously. It echoed around the chamber even when he stopped, a wicked smile on his features. “I too wonder that. But not as much as I wonder how Corypheus acquired your foci, Fen’Harel…” Solas’s heart stopped for a moment before picking up pace. “You had no temples to plunder and if I recall correctly, you yourself guarded that thing jealously…Curious how he came to possess it…” Banal’s smile was that of the cat who had caught the mouse. 

Solas worked his jaw as he stared into those glinting eyes. 

“Now who do you think they’ll hate more? The man who started all this…” Banal waved his hand towards Solas, “or the abomination who has and will continue to save them?” Fenedhis, he had him. No matter what Solas thought of, Banal could and would always turn it around back to him. Solas and Banal had always been equal in their mastery of subterfuge and espionage. But it seemed the Dread Wolf had been beat. 

Solas snarled, glaring death upon the Inquisitor’s smug grin. Then he pulled out of his dream to find a quiet spot to think about how he was going to protect the world from their protector.

_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone (you know who you are) once mentioned that how every time Banal went into his fight mode and saw red, they just imagined him going all Reaver. And I laughed so hard at that because at the time I knew why the red happened and why Banal has such a pension for battle and you all didn't. But now you know! Or at least I hope you now know.
> 
> Thank you all for weighing in and waiting somewhat patiently...so far I haven't gotten any cyber assassins who fail and then flirt their heart out (oh Zevran I miss you...), and I hope I'll get there soon. Just need a chapter or so to nudge the two idiots (Banal and Dorian) together...Magnets I tell you.
> 
> The chapter name comes from the song from both Dragon Age: Origins and Inquisition because it just suits Banal as well as Solas. ;)


	17. Sweet Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banal has a soft spot for spirits, sweets, and...children?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so before we begin, I had originally planned to have Nehnlin's story written and up before this chapter. However my stupid brain refuses to let me get passed the first part of it due to a lack of knowledge with herbal remedies. Plot's all thought of and everything else taken care of, I just can't jump over that hurdle and write the dang thing. 
> 
> What does that mean for this chapter? Well I'm glad you asked. It means you'll be surprised to meet An'nas and you might think I pulled him out of a hat or something. So I'm going to tell you he comes in in Nehnlin's backstory, which obviously happens about five hundred years before the fall of Arlathan.
> 
> **All flashbacks in this chapter are brought to you by Cole** so that you can see what Banal does not see and hopefully you can start to see the Banal I know and work with :) Also it's father's day so I just had to do a chapter that centered around Banal being a father.

It was rather like being between two alpha male wolves fighting over territory, Dorian mused to himself. Somehow, between the evening and morning, Solas had managed to piss the Inquisitor off something fierce. His glares…The human shivered as he looked over at one. 

It was like he was willing his eyes to skin the other elf. And then boil him alive. The two stayed far from the other as they went about their morning routines. Had they not been on good terms the prior day, none of the companions would have noticed. The Inquisitor was known for a short temper and sudden mood swings. 

But this? This was a new level apparently. Dorian couldn’t say for sure since he hadn’t been around these people long enough. Still as they all ate their breakfast, the hatred was practically tangible. 

“So what did Droopy Ears do to make your breeches tie up in a knot?” Sera asked with a mouth full of oatmeal. The Inquisitor’s eyes snapped to her, still with the now infamous glare. 

“Tel’dirtha.” Banal hissed. 

“Tell dirt what?” Sera blinked confused. 

“I do believe the Inquisitor just told you to shut up.” Solas helpfully provided without looking at the other elves. 

“Tel’dirtha, Fen. Mah bellanaris din’an heem.” None of them could be sure, but they were all pretty sure the Inquisitor just told Solas to shut his trap before he killed him. Just a guess given the amount of hatred in his voice and the look of pure unfiltered murder in his eyes. “Hurry up and eat, I’d like to get to the Dirthavaren before you’re all ashes.” 

Varric and Dorian shared a look as the Inquisitor tossed his meal into the fire and walked to where they had tied the mounts. “Should he really be skipping this many meals?” 

Dorian asked. “I’m no expert on elves, but I’m pretty sure even they need to eat a substantial quantity of food.” 

Varric chuckled. “We aren’t sure what the Inquisitor eats besides alcohol, jerky, and hard tack. Think I saw him eat an apple once without a chaser.” 

Then in popped Cole’s voice, pestering Solas about something. “The Shadow of a Shadow, he’s not my friend anymore, far too cruel, callous, corrupted…” The spirit messed with his hand wraps before looking calmly at the bald elf. “He’s still your friend. He just doesn’t remember the person you do…He remembers poison, and hate, and lies, and darkness. But there’s light too…” 

The apostate sighed loudly. “This isn’t something you can help with, Cole.” 

“I don’t know, Chuckles, the kid still knows more about the Inquisitor than the rest of us.” Varric piped in, not wanting another elf with be grumpy as hell for the rest of the trip. Banal was pissed enough for all of Orlais. 

Dorian nodded thoughtfully before adding, “And so far the only one who hasn’t gotten a death threat, verbal or otherwise.” 

“Personally, I’d leave that dragon’s nest alone,” Bull commented. Blackwall nodded silently while Cassandra began to help take down some of the tents. 

“Indeed, he’s already quit once. I do not wish to have a repeat of the Druffalo Incident.” She muttered. 

“Agreed, dear. Poking a dragon is a fool’s idea, especially if that dragon happens to be the last hope for Thedas whether we like him or not.” Vivienne noted, checking her nails for chips and dirt. 

“But he’s not a dragon…” Cole furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “And I’m not poking him; I’m helping heal the hurt. There’s walls upon walls upon wounds. He doesn’t even know he has them…” Then Cole’s eyes shifted to Varric. “He doesn’t like bland things.” 

“Beg pardon?” The dwarf asked as he looked up from gathering his own things. 

“You asked why he doesn’t eat. You’re concerned for him. There’s a cook in Skyhold he likes. She makes him lots of things, but he likes the sweet things the best.” 

Everyone stopped to stare at the spirit. “Wait, so you’re saying…the Inquisitor has a sweet tooth?” Varric asked after a moment letting that sink in. Who would have thought that sourpuss Banal had a love for all things sugary and sweet. 

“His teeth aren’t sweet, he just likes sweet food. And spices, the spices remind him of home.” Cole shrugged. “He knows he can’t have those things out here, and he thinks he’d be childish to ask such things when those under him don’t get them…” 

Everyone turned to where the elf could barely seen taking care of his dead horse’s sword. It was in constant need of repair, something about fluids and magic around the hole eat at the metal. Making the Inquisitor having to take it out frequently to do some sort of necromancy weirdness that only Sparkler seemed to get. 

But everyone was astonished that the elf had enough empathy in him to think about the soldiers. Perhaps it was a part of his past, or that he knew enough about being a leader to not forget the people under him did not have the same privileges. Or maybe it was an elf thing. 

“So Lord Magesty still remembers he’s still one of us just more glowy?” Sera asked as though that was a hard thought to swallow. “Don’t believe it.” She snorted, slinging her bow over her back. 

“I don’t know. The boss doesn’t ask for much. Just a good fight, privacy, and people to follow orders it seems. Everything else is just given.” The Bull shrugged. 

Solas shook his head. He knew better. The Shadow knew how to manipulate people, make them see what they wanted. It was his Game. 

“He lets people make him into whatever they want, Solas.” Cole suddenly spoke up, sensing another hurt arising. “You see a Shadow, Varric sees a Smile, Vivienne sees a Demon, Dorian a Mystery…You make him what you want, not the other way around.” 

***** 

Much of the remaining trip was dead silent. Mostly because no one really wanted to talk to the already bristling Inquisitor. At first Varric tried, but one way or another Solas and Banal would find something to argue about. Whether he was talking to Banal and Solas makes some remark in elven, or vice versa, it was painfully obvious the elves weren’t going to play nice. 

The only time they could agree was if Sera made some crude comment about the elfy elves having sticks up their own asses or rather have the other’s genitals…Solas was of course appalled while Banal snorted and said that he wasn’t that desperate for sex. 

“So Solas, you can make magic anywhere? Ever piss the stuff?” Sera asked suddenly after about three miles of complete silence. Apparently she was bound and determined to get everyone killed. 

“No. Wait…” He paused for a moment making some turn in their saddles to look at him oddly. “No.” He finally said with firmness. 

“What? How could you not remember something like that?” Sera asked baffled. 

“We were all young once.” The elf shrugged. Sera snorted but then turned her attention to the other high and mighty elf mage. 

“What about you, Lord Magesty Herald?” 

“What about me?” Banal growled, glaring ahead of him. They were perhaps five miles from the Plains, which was a blessing. He could just leave whoever behind at the camp and not have to suffer this anymore. “Tel’abelas, I’ve learned to ignore you.” 

Sera frowned but kept her string of curses down. “You ever piss magic?” 

Banal was quiet as she moved her horse to be able to look at his face. He was going back in his head, trying to remember. He didn’t think he would find anything, and yet… “Yes, actually I have. Hurt like hell, I don’t recommend it.” He laughed which was startlingly. 

“Wait what? Really?” 

“Yes really. As the Harellan said, we were all young once. I just happened to be stupid in mine.” 

“How the hell did you manage to piss magic?” Sera snorted after she calmed from a fit of giggles. Banal found her laughter grating at best. Like rubbing salt into fresh wounds only not as pleasant. 

The Inquisitor shook his head silently. He could not remember specifics, just that he had done it. He was…dared? By someone… 

“Your little brother dared you.” Cole mumbled getting his horse, which had been specially trained to tolerate the spirit, to come up beside Banal. The Inquisitor’s mood once again darkened. 

The spirit’s presence inside his already aching skull was like having a beehive underneath your skin. When he first woke up, not only was he royally pissed about finding out Fen’Harel was indeed alive and well and living right beside him this whole time, but had a mind splitting headache from having another presence inside his head. One that wasn’t compatible with his own self. 

He had downed three elfroot potions to get it numbed to a dull ache. Now the spirit ripped it back open to peer at it. Not to mention, he could sense demons abound in the Dirthavaren. While they posed little threat to him, it was still unpleasant for a Fadewalker, a Dreamer such as himself. 

But he didn’t want Cole to up and turn demon on them. After all, that’d just lead to Cassandra and Vivienne giving I-told-you-so lectures. So Banal gathered the tatters of his self-control and let out a frustrated sigh. 

“Again, Cole, I would rather you not mess around in my head.” Banal said through clenched teeth. “Everyone else’s is fine.” 

“Speak for yourself, Inquisitor.” Vivienne spoke up. 

“Go bug the Enchanter.” Banal growled with a glare in her direction. “I’m sure she has a lot of shit she needs help with. Like that giant stick up her ass.” Sera burst out into giggles at that. 

“I’d suggest the demon ‘help’ you with that chip on your shoulder and your inflated sense of self-worth first, darling.” She retorted coolly. 

“And I’d suggest you go fuck a tree stump, but I don’t want to inflict that kind of punishment on the tree. It’s been through enough.” Varric bit his tongue on his chuckle. He thought Dorian and Vivienne were bad; this was downright nasty. 

“Enough.” Cassandra growled before it could turn into all-out war between the two mages. The last thing they needed was the two hurling fireballs as well as insults at each other. Not to mention, they all knew that Banal would no doubt find something that would wound someone. 

They reached the camp shortly after that. Banal for once picked out a team rather than letting them decide. “Varric, Seeker, and Dorian, come.” His tone said there was no arguing either. Cassandra was surprised to be chosen as was Dorian, though not as much. He was certainly on better terms than the other two mages. 

As the Inquisitor was briefed by Harding about the Freemen, Varric stood beside the ‘Vint. “Do us all a favor, Sparkler. Don’t get on his bad side, otherwise we’ve got no support mage.” The dwarf joked. 

Dorian snorted. “How could I get on his bad side? I’m positively charming and delightful.” He rolled his eyes for good measure. Still, he thought, no pressure…Just try not to piss off a man dead set on being angry all the time… 

***** 

Even far away, Cole could sense the Inquisitor’s mass of wrong. It was like a snake pit, all twisting and tangling, writhing and winding into a big ball of not-good around him. It was hard to get much out of it, just broken pieces of already broken memories. 

At first the spirit had tried to untangle all the hurts like playing that game where you have to pick up sticks one at a time from top to bottom without ever moving more than one stick. Banal used to play it all the time when he was young, but he remembered neither its name nor that he played it. 

But the snakes would move away from him, running deeper into the darkness that was a part of him now. The spirit would grab one but it was slick, slithering away before he could follow it to its hurt. 

Cole knew those snakes were feeding, festering, destroying him and that he was letting them. He thought that better than fixing the hurt they hid. But he was the Inquisitor, he was everyone’s. So didn’t his hurts hurt everyone else? Add that to the fact that there were a lot of hurts, and you’d understand the reason why the spirit of compassion was determined to pick at the pit of snakes. 

It was just…hard. Near the Inquisitor, he saw just fragments, echoes, smoke and mirrors. He couldn’t concentrate on one single thing. The Mark made it worse. It made him bright, but that just made the snakes darker like an eclipse, the moon blocking the sun. 

Far away and it became so that he couldn’t really hear anything anymore. Just feel it. It made Cole frustrated, confused. How could he help? 

It was then that Cole felt a brush of something else…some _one_ else. He had felt them before, briefly. When he followed it, stretching his mind out to touch it, love flooded his senses. It felt nice when he had been surrounded by what his senses felt was a fresh wound. 

An image flickered in front of the spirit’s eyes, overlapping the present as he waited with the others at the first camp (they’d advance to the grove’s camp once the Inquisitor had dealt with the gurguts infesting it). 

He wasn’t outside anymore. He was in a temple, an old temple that had magic buzzing even in the illusion. The Fade was close to it, shimmering splendidly. There were others there too, but they were…”sleeping”, souls gone to another place while their bodies were kept here. 

But then he was in another room. An elf with short brown hair and garnet eyes walked passed Cole. Sadness and guilt radiated from him. _Why did I become afraid of losing everything when losing him was much worse?_ floated through the spirit’s mind. 

The man knelt beside one of the tombs, but this one was different. The body wasn’t inside, it was on top. Cole without really knowing knew it was because Uthenera had not taken him. He was dreaming, but not eternally. The priests kept his body strong with oils and incense, prayers and spells. And soon they wouldn’t have to do that even. 

The spirit wandered closer to the red-eyed elf, curious. There was hurt here, but he couldn’t help it. This was a memory. As he did, the image came into focus. 

Banal laid on the tomb, though the white was much longer than it was now. And he wasn’t as bright. The Other Mark was on his hand not the Anchor, radiating the snakes though his mind was not conscious. Everything stemmed from it, Cole thought. If he could figure out that Mark, perhaps he could unravel the snakes… 

_Aneth era, emma lath…_ broke Cole’s train of thought. The red-eyed elf, the Guide and Friend of the Dead, looked so sad as he took Banal’s hand in his own. Cole could see a little glimmering light between the two. They were not bonded per say, but to the spirits that watched them they were connected. 

Cole touched that light, letting the knowledge flow into him. The Guide came every day, just to sit. Sometimes he’d talk and sing, other times he’d cry or just hold his hand. Just so if Banal woke up, the Guide was the first thing he’d see. He felt it was his fault he died. After all, it was his war. 

His Brother tried to tell him he was manipulated by the dark elf who was no doubt an insane follower of the dead Forgotten Ones. But the Guide never listened. He was just scared of becoming like Banal, forgotten and alone with only his own madness. After all what is a god without any followers? So he tried to amass more and in the end it just took him away. 

Cole’s eyes drifted back to Banal. It was getting hard to focus on him now, his real self interfering somehow. The spirit squinted…He had lost something, something he kept so close and guarded he couldn’t bear to live…But at the same time, he couldn’t think of letting the Guide be struck down. The Protector wouldn’t have killed her son, but he didn’t know that… 

Then the image popped and Cole blinked as the Plains came back into focus. He felt that pull again, only this time he felt like he had pulled out a snake finally. But it was attached to another snake, one that clung to another and another and another… 

Still the spirit disappeared, heading for the Inquisitor. 

***** 

“Beautiful…in a this could collapse on me at any moment sort of way…” Dorian muttered as he followed Banal through an archway. Through their short little venture, they had already found two battlements under siege from undead, a grove full of gurguts, and that the Inquisitor knew quite a bit about the area. 

“I doubt they’ll collapse.” Banal said, looking up at the structure. It wasn’t of his time, but it was built similarly. “See the designs at the top and how the arch is pointed? That helps lessen the weight on each base pillar, which are,” He paused to pat the thick stone, “still quite sturdy.” 

“So do you have a passion for architecture as well as pictures and paintings, dear Inquisitor?” The human snorted as they started heading further down the path. 

Banal snorted loudly, it echoing around them. “I have a love for sound designs, Dorian. Unlike Orlesians. Whoever built that structure wasn’t like the builders of old…but close.” 

“And what are the builders of old? What did they build that’s so grand?” Varric grumbled as they were beginning to squish through the ground rather than walk. Was solid, dry, and flat terrain so hard to find? Really. 

Banal stopped. He waved his hand towards the temple that was built through the mountain side. “This. This was here in the time of Arlathan. It’s a bit worse for wear, but…” His companions could clearly see the entrance to some building. 

“Did they build it through the mountain?” Cassandra asked, astonished. Banal actually chuckled. 

“What? Durgen’len are the only ones who can build subterranean structures?” Banal pushed out the gate, feeling a pull in his chest. “This was one of the smaller temples to Falon’Din. Meant to guarded those in Uthenera. Once this entire building would have been warded against wayward spirits attracted to the influx of magical energy. But it seems they have dissipated.” Banal explained as he gathered Veilfire in his hand to lead the way. “Tread carefully, I doubt the elders appreciate us interrupting their naps.” 

“Cheery thought.” Dorian grumbled as they wandered inside. Surprisingly, the inside was…quite large with a vaulted ceiling. And in the center of it all was some sort of contraption with a large archer statue and four orbs with pillars in front of them. Dorian had studied very little of elven devices in the circle, but even a child could have guessed this was a puzzle guard. 

Banal could feel the Veil was very, very thin here. But the statues still hummed with magic, awaiting to be opened again. It wasn’t very difficult to figure out. Move the pillars so the archer could shoot into each orb, simple. 

“Well, good news is this is one of the simpler contraptions to prevent unwelcome guests. Bad news for raiders, you need a mage and a few companions to get passed it.” Banal walked over to a lever and flipped it down, opening a gate. He walked around some smaller pillars to another lever controlling the archer. 

“So what do we do exactly?” Cassandra asked, wary. She did not like the feel of this place. Death had touched it far too many times, much like the Grand Necropolis. It made her skin crawl. 

“You, Seeker, stand here.” Banal motioned to his place. “And pull the lever when I say. Varric will stand on that tile over there. And Dorian and I will take care of the magic.” His companions shared a look but went to their places. 

“Holy shit, this is weird.” Varric grumbled as the tile, well the tiles under the metal grating, flipped and glowed blue. Banal instructed Dorian to go over to one of the sconces and light it. Then the Inquisitor lit his own Veilfire inside the gate he opened earlier only to then Fadestep through the wall and light the remaining one. 

“Now Seeker, pull.” The Seeker forced the underused and slightly rusting lever down, the statue groaning but moving smoothly. It fired a magic arrow into an orb just before the pillar rose again. While she was pushing the lever back up, Banal walked over to the flickering gate opposite him. 

Sometimes it was solid others it was incorporeal. Not long enough for someone to walk through it without suddenly being impaled by the intricate metal filigree, but for a few split seconds. Banal gathered his breath, pulling the magic around him once more and shooting through it. 

He had to throw out his hands to brace himself from hitting the wall, but he was otherwise fine. The last orb Cassandra waited for the pillar to lower before she would pull again. Banal could tell from the amount of mold, spiderwebs, and rust on the wheel that moving it was going to be a bitch. Apparently that rock had fallen decades if not centuries ago. 

His magic pooled into his muscles, pulling the raw Fade for more of a boost. With a bit of cursing, he managed to break a fine layer of rust off and get the stupid thing to turn. And with that the last orb was lit. They all flashed bright blue once before letting little magic orbs out that floated further into the temple. “Interesting, I’ve not seen this before. How do they know where to go?” Dorian muttered as the Inquisitor Fade Cloaked himself to walk through the wall. He had also never seen a Knight Enchanter that could hold the cloak for so long. Of course the man had a glowing mark on his hand too. 

“Think of it like magnets,” Banal explained, phasing back into this world. 

“So the magic is just drawn in by a strong current?” 

“Exactly so, Dorian.” 

Varric took note that suddenly Dorian was Dorian to the Inquisitor, rather than Altus or Tevinter. He looked between the two as they chatted happily about magical who-ha. His chest hairs were tingling as it were. There’s a story here, or will be one soon…the dwarf thought with a wicked smile. 

“You all can return to camp if you wish. I will be a bit.” Banal almost whispered as they opened the big doors into the main tomb. Surprisingly, it didn’t smell like decay, but earth and flowers. Perhaps some sort of herbal oil or something. Light was coming from the right side from a passageway they could barely make out. 

“And leave you here?” Cassandra scoffed as she looked around. She was waiting for one of the tombs to move or a demon to pop out of the ground or something. 

The Inquisitor had a solemn look upon his face as he went to a specific stone slab. He had lain there. But this was far from the Temple he remembered briefly as he was coaxed into sleeping…So was the temple he had woken up in the Free Marches… 

He furrowed his brow, not understanding what happened while he was asleep. 

“The priests didn’t think you were a good influence on him. Neither did his Brother, so he convinced them to move you…” Cole’s voice startled him. His head whirled to where the spirit suddenly appeared. It took a moment for Banal to string together what the kid was talking about. When he did, he frowned deeply. 

Of course, Dirthamen didn’t like him. Poncy little liar raven didn’t like someone who could hold secrets better than him. Or got his elder brother not to be attached at the hip anymore. Void forbid Falon’Din went somewhere without Dirthamen for once…He always came back, so it’s not like Banal stole him forever. 

Absently Banal moved over to a seemingly blank wall. He felt a small tug from there. He also knew these temples were very tricky. Falon’Din had adored Fen’Harel as a child. Plus hidden rooms made the resting place more secure as well as larger. 

His fingertips brushed the stones, searching for that one…A click sounded around the tomb, the wall going back and then sliding away. Behind it was a small room, but it had a chest and a few other things. 

“Huh, never would have guessed elves to use hidden doors.” Varric snorted. Elves seemed to be very straightforward in designs, though that puzzle was ridiculous. But their love for all things clever aside, the door wasn’t even magical. They loved magic. 

“They were quite fond of them actually, once upon a time.” The Inquisitor replied as he walked to the chest. The lock clicked open but before he could open the spirit was beside him. Light was picking into his skull again, eliciting a hiss from his mouth. 

“He came every day, though you didn’t need the balm.” Cole’s voice was soft there in the Temple. “He wanted to be the first thing you saw when you woke up, so he sat beside you every day and sang. But you couldn’t hear him, could you? You were lost, wandering alone, waiting for the sleep to take you, but it didn’t.” 

Banal sighed loudly. “I’m beginning to wonder if it ever will.” 

“I’ve already conquered death, so how will I end?” Cole repeated the thoughts he had thought nearly every day trapped inside his own Temple. “You want it all to end, the hate, the anger, the shame, the fear. You want it all gone, but you hold those things the tightest…” 

Banal looked over his shoulder at the spirit. “What is this supposed to accomplish, Compassion? All you are doing is bearing my dirty laundry to everyone else.” His voice was venomous and hard. He had long buried these thoughts, crafting instead schemes and orchestrating them with precision. He had thought he’d overcome these pathetic thoughts. Yet the spirit still picked at them. 

Cole looked very troubled as he stared at the Inquisitor. Why wouldn’t he let him help? “You are hurting, hiding the wounds so that you don’t think they’re there. But they are there. And they still hurt you. I just want to help.” 

Banal narrowed his eyes, letting out a loud breath through his nostrils. He wasn’t going to win this was he? Either he kept denying the spirit and he turned into a demon (most likely an equally annoying demon) or gave in and let the damn kid try to fix whatever it was that drove him to this constant pestering. 

What demon would Cole turn into anyways? A Despair demon? That sounds about right. Banal hated those things. Mopey, depressing, cold, and flighty. Not to mention tiresome and have a voice like an out-of-tune harpy. 

“Fine, fine,” Banal hissed loudly. “You can help, just when we aren’t surrounded by people and aren’t on the road.” 

The spirit brightened considerably. “So long as the hurt gets help.” 

***** 

The Inquisitor soon shooed everyone away, telling them to wait for him at the camp. He wanted to be alone, in case any unwanted memories surfaced. Once they were out of the temple, Banal turned to the chest again. 

Inside were a few articles he kept with Falon’Din. His guardian armor, his dar’misu, and a few journals and other bags. Most of the bags had deteriorated long ago, but the magic wards carved into the leather of the books kept them strong. Their edges were still frayed and the pages were yellowing, but they were intact at least. 

As for his armor, it had dulled, though only slightly. The obsidian still could reflect his image back and the iridescent ice dragon scales still reminded him of ice crystals reflecting every color. There was no damage from the wound he had received long ago. Not surprising really. Tradition dictated that a warrior be buried in his armor so that he may better defend himself, thus armor would be repaired. 

Banal sighed happily, finally some proper armor. 

Without really thinking too much about how the last time he was adorned in this armor, Mythal had shoved a blade through his gut, Banal stripped down to his leather pants. He slipped on the translucent padded tunic before settling the Stormheart chainmail over himself. Then came the wyvern scale vest, followed by his breastplate and finally his dragon scales arm armor to his left and his wyvern scaled armor to his right, both complete with a golden clawed gauntlet. 

It was like slipping into another skin really. Every part was light as ordinary clothing to his trained senses. Every movement made to look effortless. And still be functional armor of course. He couldn’t fathom why modern day mages ran around in robes that had very little metal and leather to prevent injury. 

He shook his head, buckling his leg armor to his calves, above his knee and around his arch. He attached his tasset to his left leg, tugging a few times to ensure the clasps were still sturdy. Banal flexed his fingers for a moment, seeing if the chainmail would pinch or catch before he slung on his sword belt and put it through its frog. 

Fabric underneath all the armor caught his attention. He waved his hand over the now-useless enchanter armor, setting it afire absently. A silvery blue and raven feathers rested below. Banal instantly recognized them as the robes he wore when he wasn’t guarding, or was at his own Temple. He supposed he could convince Dagna or the Dalish to fix it. After all, fabric did not fare well after thousands of years. 

Then he turned to the journals. Fifty years were recorded in three leather bound journals. Their covers had worn, the dye fading almost completely. But the intricate elven designs embossed on them were still there. 

A feeling of nostalgia hit him. A stupid feeling really. Also he suddenly felt very old, felt his age as it were. Most of the buildings he had drawn were wiped away now, or lost to the ages. Or were being reclaimed by the earth. Whatever way you sliced it, Banal was old. 

“For the void’s sake…” He growled to the air as he carefully tucked them into his bag along with his robes. “It’s not like I was awake for the last...what? Three thousand years?” He tried to comfort himself. He succeeded only in the fact that age was both a combination of years alive and life experience. By that standard, he could shave off a few thousand years from his lifespan… 

At least that’s what he told himself as he headed out. 

***** 

Banal signaled the group to stop at the top of a small hill that overlooked the Dalish camp. Aravel sails creaked in the wind, piercing the sky with their brilliant scarlet manner. Halla grazed around it lazily, some children brushing a few. They had been there awhile it seemed as they had constructed a fence around their area. 

He knew that most of the hunters were off at the moment, judging from how little activity there was. Plus they had met a pair of hunters that directed them to this location. He was also told that the hunters were trying to scout out a safe route away from here. Understandable with undead popping out of nowhere and humans warring. 

Without a word to the rest of them, Banal dismounted. He had to gather all his patience as he unbuckled his bag from his saddle. They would no doubt be overly curious about him. Deshanna made it no secret that he was to be considered a hahren, an elder. However, whether or not she disclosed just how much of an elder was anyone’s guess. 

He’d have to play it by ear as it were. No need to tip his hand about something as trivial as his origins. Not that he couldn’t lie on the spot if need be. That’d take energy that he didn’t want to waste on them. 

Banal let out a long sigh, resigning himself to a few hours of answering inane questions. “You all go and set up camp not far from here. I will join you once I have secured everything.” He spoke softly as he headed down the bank. “I would not begin to cook your dinner; they will no doubt invite you all to theirs.” 

His long braid swung back and forth, armor glinting. For a moment, he looked to be some elven specter marching to battle or the shade of a long dead king taking the throne. His companions saw little need to accompany him into the Dalish camp. Most of them might be shot on sight. Or watched like a mage in Kirkwall’s Circle. 

They shared a look however when he warned them about being invited. Would these nomadic elves really be willing to share food with shemlen? Solas had his doubts, but if these Dalish knew the very, very basics of who Banal was, he had little doubt he could ask them to be his army and they’d do it. 

***** 

A white-haired man stood by the his aravel located near the entrance to camp. He looked up from repairing his landship at the sound of splashes. Banal hesitated, watching carefully as the man slowly met his eyes. 

He was walking into their land, thus courtesy dictated Banal wait to be greeted before entering the ring. That he was told he could come here meant little as it wasn’t from Hawen himself. 

“Andran’atishan lethallin.” Banal gave a shallow bow, one hand resting on the hilt of his elven curved sword. “I was told to seek out Keeper Hawen, both by Keeper Deshanna and some of your young hunters I met earlier.” 

“Aneth era,” The old elf put down his tools and came forward. “I am Keeper Hawen. You must be the Inquisitor.” There was only a slight hesitation in his voice like he couldn’t wrap his head around an elf leading anything other than a Clan. 

“Indeed I am Inquisitor Banal Lavellan.” The old elf held out his hand, a gesture Banal had become familiar with in his short time with Clan Lavellan. The Inquisitor clasped him at the wrist, his other hand around the bicep. “It is a pleasure to meet, Keeper. Your young hunters wish you to know they will continue to scout for a safe way through the Plains.” 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Hahren. Deshanna has…told me much of you.” The old elf watched Banal carefully as he stepped back. “Some of it I have a hard time believing.” 

Banal snorted with a smirk. “Deshanna did as well when her hunters dragged me to their camp.” 

Hawen glanced behind the Inquisitor’s shoulders, noting the humans crossing the river. Some had the eye surrounded by fire upon their armor, a symbol he had seen around some of the shemlen. As they were not attacking or making hostile movements, he assumed they were Inquisition agents and paid them no heed. 

Banal caught the glance, however. “Fear not, those are my travel companions; they pose you no harm. And if they do they have to answer to me.” There was a constant buzzing in his ear, telling him many demons were about near here. It was a throbbing under his skin where his magic laid. But, interestingly enough, the Keeper’s own darkness seemed to block it out. It gave Banal’s magic something to cling to that wasn’t the demons. 

Hawen was…worried, fearful. How could they get out of the Plains without destroying the aravels and maiming the halla? Where could he be? What was he thinking, running off? One strand in particular was darker, darkest. It was tinged with anger and sorrow. 

“But you seem troubled by more than my companions, Keeper. What is it that worries you?” 

The man blinked like he was stunned Banal could read him so easily. It wasn’t exactly a master level spell, Banal thought with an imagined eye roll. “Where do I start, Hahren? The shemlen create trenches that trip the halla and destroy the aravels.” He motioned to his own damaged ship. Stationary Clans, Deshanna said, often run out of resources quickly, especially with only certain areas they could go without inciting some shemlen lord’s wrath. “Right when the Clan needs him the most, my First mounts an excursion to the Graves.” Hawen seemed close to pulling his hair out. “And I’ve just learned that something has disturbed the graves in Var Bellanaris.” 

Banal narrowed his eyes at that. What could disturb the long dead elves? He supposed whoever was raising the dead in the ramparts could have tampered so greatly with the already thin Veil, that some spirits managed to escape their compulsion and went to the elven burial site…Idiot shemlen. 

“I can take care of that for you.” Banal offered. “It does not clear my debt with you and yours, but perhaps this will as well.” Figuring there was no need to delay this much further, Banal reached into his bag and pulled out the journals wrapped in his robes. 

The Keeper’s eyes widened, seeing how old they were. The silvery robes were both similar and far different than the robes their craftsmen created. And then the books…were miraculously preserved. Carefully he picked up one, just as some of the Clan began to let their curiosity get the best of them and creep closer. 

“What is it Keeper?” One woman asked as she peeked at the book he held. Her blue eyes flickered up to Banal for a moment. Most of them weren’t sure who this stranger was exactly save for the Inquisitor. 

“Journals dating back to the time Arlathan. The robes same time period.” Banal spoke to the Keeper. The Keeper narrowed his eyes, wondering if these were Banal’s. The Inquisitor kept a straight face, answering the unspoken question with a slight nod. 

Hawen furrowed his eyebrows. Surely the being before him could not have written these. They were too pristine to be over a thousand years old. Most artifacts from the time of the Dales weren’t this preserved. 

“They were locked in an airtight chest in a secret room of the temple of Falon’Din. Most of the contents had already dissolved. Luckily those remained with little wear. I do hope I can entrust them to you, Keeper Hawen.” 

Hawen’s mouth opened and closed many times before he finally nodded. “Yes, yes of course you can. This…this is a great gift to us, Hahren. Worth more than a simple robe.” There were murmurs in the small crowd, ones of excitement and questions. They obviously were not told who Banal was, but no doubt will once he was gone. 

Banal chuckled to himself. Ah, curiosity killed the Clan… “Well then, it wouldn’t be too rude of me to ask if I could share your hearth for the night then?” 

“Of course not. We would be happy to have you and your companions at our hearth.” The Keeper bowed slightly, enough to whisper to Banal without everyone hearing. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I told the rest of the Clan about you then?” 

Banal smirked to himself. Elves still liked to harbor secrets it seemed. Sometimes never change. “Not at all; there are no secrets in the Clan yes?” 

***** 

Banal spent about an hour talking with the craftsman, or rather craftswoman. She had many questions about the robes he had brought after all. She was actually a very stoic woman, taking everything he said with a stone face, no nonsense tone in her voice when she talked, etcetera. She was quiet when she measured him, only telling him that she’d be damned if she let some shemlen smith or tailor fix her work. Banal snickered at the pride in her voice, and told her she could use the other robes as reference if need be. They were his after all. 

Then he left, leaving her to think that sentence over. 

“Well? Are we going to need to strip the camp quickly before the Dalish come looking for blood?” Dorian quipped as the Inquisitor came into view at their little camp not far from the Dalish’s. 

“Stripping _the camp_ will not be necessary, any other kind of stripping you wish to do,” Banal shrugged with his devious smirk, “at least give me fair warning so I can get a good seat.” 

Dorian chuckled, “I’ll keep that in mind next time the urge comes over me.” 

“Please do, I could use some distractions right now.” By now the other companions realized he was back and were slinking out of whatever it is that they do when not with him. 

“That bad, Smiley?” Varric chuckled. 

Banal let out a long sigh. “I was not created to be a caring man, Varric. But you all get to keep your heads.” 

“That’s all?” the dwarf probed. 

“They’ve agreed to help if that’s what you want to know. There’s even a young man that wishes to join the Inquisition. The trick is getting the Keeper to allow it…” 

“But aren’t you, I don’t know, some sort of big Dalish lord thingy? Why can’t he just join?” Sera asked, frowning. She bet her entire stock of arrows that it was something stupid and elfy. 

Banal returned her frown. “No, I’m not and it’s not that simple.” 

“Why not? Because someone shouted it real loud?” 

The Inquisitor sighed loudly, dropping to the ground in one elegant motion. “The Clan is…very much like a family, Tel’ehvhan. It is more important than anything, land and history be damned if it means betraying your kin.” Banal snuck a glare towards Solas. “So the Keeper may trust me, but not the Inquisition, and thus he wishes to protect his Clan as much as possible.” 

“But you’re the Inquisitor…” Sera persisted like Banal was the Inquisition. 

“Yes, but he’s not the whole Inquisition,” Blackwall commented. “There are still plenty of people who’d sooner stick a knife in your gut just ‘cause of your ears, Sera.” The elf grumbled about they’d get an arrow in the ass if they tried. 

“Not only that, but you people call me the Herald of _Andraste_ that doesn’t exactly boost recruitment among a people who have had bad dealings with religious persons in the past.” Banal pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“So how can we get the Keeper to let him come with us?” Cassandra asked. They needed all the help they could get, and the Dalish were some of the finest warriors and scouts. If they could get one to come, perhaps others would flock… 

“We gain favor. Dalish honor deeds more than words.” Banal explained, already thinking of ways to raise his position. He imagined they did not have a lot of supplies, so perhaps he could arrange for some to be sent… “Seeker Cassandra, write to someone and ask them to bring supplies to the Clan as fast as they can.” 

She blinked. But she supposed it made sense. They must be running low on things and agreeing to use what little they had to help Banal…She wondered just how far the elves would go to help their kin. If only humans were similar… She nodded once before going to her tent to write the letter. Why he asked her to do it, she had no idea. 

“There’s supposedly a golden halla somewhere here, we need to find it before some shemlen does.” 

Varric froze for a moment. “You do remember what happened the last time you did an animal rescue mission right?” Most of the companions looked confused as the dwarf and Solas both looked terrified. 

Banal frowned deeply, fingers touching his white streak. “Don’t remind me. Besides that’s why Cole, Enchanter, and Blackwall will be herding it. Bull, Cassandra and Sera will clear out some demons in a nearby gravesite. _Without_ disrupting the graves.” He hissed the last bit to hint at what might happen if they did. “You, Dorian, Pride, and I are going to take a little trip down the river for a spirit.” 

Solas blinked. He was still going to help? Then he became suspicious. The Shadow never did things for the better of others. Was he just going to murder the spirit, knowing Solas couldn’t do anything about it? What was his angle? 

But before he could voice anything, the Inquisitor stood up and continued to speak. “Cole, you help the halla get to the Dalish safely. Enchanter, Warden, follow Cole’s lead. And tonight we will be eating with the Dalish, and I suggest you all refrain from insulting them.” He looked at Sera in particular with a nasty glare. “Be back here before the sun sets.” 

***** 

“No, no, no, NO!” Solas nearly growled as they came upon a Pride demon. It was partially wounded and dazed inside its binding. Even Banal frowned. The idiot shemlen knew nothing of how spirits worked. 

“My guess is they summoned it and ordered it to kill, turning a harmless spirit of wisdom into a demon.” Banal mumbled. Even he never forced spirits with a kind nature to fight for him. Only the weak willed wisps or spirits of valor or spirits of dead warriors that hovered around the battlefield. It pissed him off that humans, who had the knowledge of a child, thought themselves better. 

“Let us ask them.” Solas broke his thoughts as a human stumbled towards them. 

“A mage! And you aren’t with the bandits?” He sighed with relief. “Do you have any lyrium potions? We’re exhausted from fighting that demon.” 

“You summoned that demon! Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time!” Banal stepped back to observe the Wolf get angry. He always did have an explosive temper. Apparently age had not cooled it. Good to know. 

“I-I-I know it can be confusing for someone who has not studied demons, but I was the foremost expert on them in the Kirkwall Circle…” The human stuttered, facing the Dread Wolf. Banal could have almost laughed at how scared he looked. 

He’d settle for deflating his ego. “If you can’t tell the difference between a spirit and a demon, shemlen, then those around you must have been complete and utter morons.” 

Solas snorted. “And your education severely lacking.” He hissed. Suddenly the human realized he was facing down two pissed elves. His eyes darted back and forth while those behind him shared a worried look. They started to wonder which was the real demon… “You…summoned the spirit to…protect you from the bandits. You bound it and ordered it to kill. That is when it turned.” Solas accused. 

“…Yes. Normally we wouldn’t have risked the summoning, but the roads have been so dangerous—“ 

“Shut. Up.” Solas growled. “We are not here to help you.” Banal didn’t like agreeing with the Dread Wolf, but found himself sharing a long look with him. He supposed he could kill the thing, watching with a lot of satisfaction as the Wolf tasted betrayal. 

But, he also knew that once corrupted, even if they disrupted the bindings and it returned to normal, that spirit would die. Or the spirit-equivalent of dying anyway. Losing a friend is always the most painful, especially when you have to endure afterwards… 

And then there’s the fact that Banal loathed to see something’s freewill taken by force. Unless they were a complete asshole and deserved to feel helpless of course. But this spirit…There were so few of them. Wisdom, truth, compassion, command, hope, faith and a few others were all unheard of really. And yet these daft human bastards decided to take that rarity and shit on it. 

“Hmm, those bindings are half-assed. The containment spell isn’t properly aligned with the summoning spell. And the binding proper is…quite frankly horrendously done. Looks like the proper overlaps the minor, resulting in instability. Should be rather easy to undo it.” 

Solas blinked many times. It was like being slapped in the face or dunked in ice cold water suddenly. Who was this person? And what had he done with the real Banal? Or was this yet another ruse? He didn’t have much time to dwell on the reasons behind this act of mercy for the demon started to come to finally. 

The humans scurried away as the four dropped into battle stance. “Aim for the bindings, and do **not** hit the spirit!” Banal commanded as he gripped his spirit hilt. “I’ll distract the demon.” And then he ran forward. 

Dorian knew more than enough about summonings and bindings to know that the Inquisitor was quite right about how weak the circle was. He could have done better when he was but a boy of nine. 

The Inquisitor whistled loudly at the demon, speaking rapidly in elven to gain the demon’s attention. Dorian had no idea if the thing understood him, but it immediately tried to smack him with a lightning whip. Thankfully the Inquisitor drew shadows around him and phased away. He’d have to remember to ask him what the spell was that allowed him to flicker in and out of the shadows like that. 

Right now however, they were blasting at the circle while the demon chased Banal around. The moment the last one was destroyed there was a large pulse as energy was released. The demon dissolved away into a spirit. 

Banal stepped back, allowing the Wolf to speak to the thing in private. Dorian and Varric stayed back as well. This wasn’t any of their business after all. 

“So Smiley, where’d you learn to be a Cole?” Varric asked, putting Bianca away with a pat. 

“I cannot be a Cole. There is only one of him thankfully.” Banal snorted. 

“Yeah well, you kept disappearing and reappearing like the kid.” 

“Oh that. It is a combination of Fade Cloak and Fade Step, with a bit of Stealth thrown in. Old Elvhen technique.” He shrugged, turning around to gauge the bald elf and end the conversation. 

Solas dissolved his friend with heavy heart. Banal said nothing. After all, it wasn’t like they were friends or anything really. So his words meant little the Dread Wolf. Plus there was a certain happiness at seeing the other so distraught. It was only marred by the fact that a spirit had to die for it to happen. 

“Thank you, friend. We probably couldn’t have—“ the human’s voice was shaky as they slunk closer. They were relieved to have the demon gone of course. But they were the start of all this. Might as well inspire fear in them. 

“I suggest you shut your traps, shemlen.” Banal hissed. Fire lit around him. He let all his emotions go into the flames, from the anger and disgust of working with Fen’Harel to the fury of humans destroying an innocent spirit hell even his frustration of having nothing but his hand to satisfy himself went into the fire. 

“We didn’t know it was a spirit! The book said it could help us!” The man stammered. 

“You didn’t even bother to ask it anything, did you?” Banal’s voice was a feral growl. The sheer terror in their faces made Solas suddenly grateful the Shadow was who he was. A demon to scare all other demons. “I don’t suppose you want them dead, Wolf.” The Inquisitor barely turned his head to speak. He was too busy making the humans shit themselves. “I am not opposed to the idea; I might even let you do it yourself.” 

“Hey now!” Varric suddenly piped in. Last thing they needed was for Smiley and Chuckles to go on some murdering spree. Sides it was obvious that the humans were scared enough already. “I don’t think this situation calls for executions.” 

Both the elves turned to him. He had to admit, surrounded by changing colored fire didn’t make him feel very at ease as he stared at the Inquisitor. But he had talked him out of worse things than this… 

“On the contrary, Varric. I believe these humans owe blood after a spirit died because of their stupidity.” Banal stated calmly. 

“I for once agree with the Inquisitor. They tortured and killed my friend.” Solas growled, shooting the mages an icy glare. 

Varric gave his best sympathetic look, holding up his hands in surrender. “I get it, Chuckles, I do. But murdering them isn’t going to bring your friend back.” 

Solas studied the dwarf for a moment. He realized what he was saying was correct and that to carry out his murderous thoughts would be childish and stupid. He let out a long sigh, his shoulders drooping. The Inquisitor seemed to notice as the flames died down. 

“I’d suggest not summoning anything else, shems. Leave it to people who actually know how.” Banal growled as he turned around and started back for the Dalish camp. However he paused as the human started to talk. 

“And what? You are the only ones that know how to summon spirits?” It was one of the others, not the man with the beard that was whimpering for his friend to be quiet. Varric winced thinking the Inquisitor was going to tear his head off right there. 

Surprisingly he laughed loudly. “No I’m sure there are other people who are competent, you are not one of those however.” Then he gave a wave of his hand, saying something in elven. His hand glowed a soft white. Glyphs appeared on the ground and the air rippled. Dirt and light spun around two forms, sticking and forming something. 

When the elven ended, the dust settled revealing two apparitions in full armor and greatswords at the ready. “This is what a spirit summoning should look like. And because you are utter morons and don’t know the difference between a pride demon and a spirit of wisdom, these are spirits of Valor. They are combative spirits who enjoy fighting for glory. They will answer your calls only if they believe you have been slighted or they can find grandeur in the battle.” 

The spirit warriors were motionless as they awaited for Banal to tell them what to do. “If I so choose, I can have them teach you a lesson in respect. They answered my call because they’ve been watching you and find you cowardly like most mages living in Circles. You lack honor and in days of old those who lacked honor were forced into duels to death.” 

“Alright, Smiley, I think you’ve made these people shit their pants enough for one day…” Varric stepped in. “They probably get it, they know nothing of magic and will just go on with their lives right?” Banal snorted before saying something in elven to the spirits. They stepped out of battle stance with a nod. 

“Ma serannas, elgar’falon.” Banal said before the glyphs broke and the spirits dissolved back into the Fade. “Leave, shems.” The humans were practically tripping over themselves to get away from the two testy elves. Varric let out a relieved sigh. Another crisis averted. 

“I will meet you back at Skyhold, Inquisitor.” Solas told Banal’s back as he was heading back to camp. It was always hard losing a friend, but an old friend was perhaps the worst. He wished to visit his friend’s home and remember the times he had conversed with it. Remembering after all was all that kept the dead alive. 

“Do not think you have an obligation to come back, Wolf.” Varric and Dorian winced at what they considered a sly way of saying to leave the Inquisition. Solas however understood the Shadow was telling him he had a choice in working with him. Both of them knew that there would be no way to avoid the bad blood between them, but Banal was the Inquisitor, he had to stay. Solas could leave, figure out some way to stop Banal before he plunged the world into chaos once more… 

“I will keep that in mind, Inquisitor.” Solas whispered as the others walked out of sight. 

***** 

The Dalish were surprisingly merry and boisterous. The Clan happily chatted around the Inquisition, some braver souls actually talking to the humans. Those that did told extravagant tales or listened to one of Varric’s or Bull’s. Someone was playing a lute, another would play a makeshift drum when it called for it. Even Vivienne and Sera didn’t make a fuss despite having sour looks. 

Some sort of stew was being cooked over the fire, making the camp smell delicious. For some of them that was the smell of home, others it was just the smell of good food which was hard to find on the road. 

And despite a close call with some Freemen who tried to raid the camp (and were thoroughly decimated by Inquisition soldiers who took the sentry positions for the elves to enjoy some relief), everyone was laughing and were at ease enough not to have their weapons within reach. Some, like Banal, took off their armor (granted the Inquisitor still wore his tunic which was slightly armored, but still). 

Banal sat on one of the logs near the fire with the other elders talking politely with them for a period of time that astonished all of the Inquisition soldiers. After all, holding a long conversation with him was rather like trying to teaching a giant to talk. But here he was, switching between elven and trade tongue fluidly, actually managing to get the elves to laugh. 

It was fascinating, this side of the Inquisitor. The mask of indifference was gone and replaced by an attentive one, a patient one. Perhaps it was just a ruse he was putting on in order to gain what he wanted. But his companions all decided they liked this part of him. 

He even ate the hearty serving of hearthstew he was served. And didn’t complain or anything. Cassandra and Varric made it a point of asking how the cook made the stew if only to finally get something Banal would eat on the road that wasn’t worth five crowns. 

Finally everyone had eaten and settled around the fire. The Clan’s storyteller told the old stories, entertaining the small children as well as educating their guests of their ways. Banal kept his face neutral, listening to how they distorted history. He supposed he couldn’t judge too much. They did lose all knowledge when they became slaves to the humans, who morphed the truth to their advantage, taking credit where they shouldn’t. 

That was the only reason he was staying civil as they told the story of Fen’Harel. He could have almost laughed at how wrong they were. But there were some truths in there, hidden as they were. 

After the storyteller was done, the Keeper spoke, “I hope you do not find we few wanderers’ hospitality lacking.” 

Banal snorted softly. “Hardly. I am astounded by your generosity, Keeper Hawen, in fact. Not many who have little would be willing to give as much as you have.” 

The Inquisition couldn’t help but notice how the Clan smiled proudly at his words. In fact, they seem to be rather eager to help Banal, quite happy to do it in fact. Like there was some secret Dalish code. Plus they all referred to him as Hahren, which they gathered was a term of respect, used for the elders of the Clan only. 

“I am glad to hear that, Hahren.” Hawen smiled before looking at each of the other Inquisition members. “Perhaps I have judged you all too quickly. You all seem respectful and honorable enough…” Then he locked eyes with a young hunter. “Loranil, if you still wish to join, you have my permission.” 

The man blinked before smiling and looking to Banal. “If you’ll have me, Inquisitor.” 

“Of course; it’ll be good to have a Dalish in our ranks.” Banal nodded with a soft smile. For a moment his companions were stunned by how different it made him look. Dorian thought it made him look far more beautiful while Blackwall thought it made him look more like how a leader should look. Cassandra found herself remembering her brother’s smile actually. “We shall leave tomorrow afternoon, Agent.” 

The young man nodded eagerly. “Right I’ll pack tonight.” 

Then Banal looked to the Keeper and a woman who must have been the man’s mother who had a look of worry on her aging face. “He will come to no harm, I promise you. Commander Cullen will make sure of that, da’len.” He told her. Her green eyes looked uncertain but she nodded at his words. 

After that, some retired while others talked amongst themselves. Banal was once again surrounded by the elders of the Clan, all asking questions about the journals he had given them. Hawen even brought them out, asking for Banal to clarify what was depicted. 

Dorian, Cassandra, and Varric stayed, actually being able to look at the book with them. The picture the Keeper went to right away was one of a forest glade that had some sort of village in it. 

“Where is this?” Hawen asked. He thought it was Arlathan, given what he knew of the old stories. Banal had to study it for a moment before chuckling. 

“That is actually in what you call the Brecillian Forest. It was a village outside one of Falon’Din’s temples.” Banal clarified. Some of the children who were still up ran over, crowding around to look at the pictures. 

A particularly young girl, perhaps the youngest save for the two babes that had retired with their mothers, tried to see around her older clanmates to no avail. Banal noticed her peeking her head through the gaps between bodies or standing on her toes or jumping up. For a moment he remembered Vhena doing that if she was ever excluded from something. He also got a flash of a young boy with black-tipped white hair who would creep closer silently tell he could grab Banal’s fingers in his small hands… 

He blinked many times, not really remembering where he had seen the boy before. Then shook his head quietly to try and dispel the emptiness it brought up. His little white spot inside pulsed out imaginary pain, like he was missing a part of himself. 

“Garas, da’len.” He motioned for the little girl to come to him. The other children let her squeeze between them. She looked rather terrified like she was getting into trouble as she hesitantly came to him. “I do not bite, da’len.” He laughed. Good to know children still found him unsettling. Banal held out his arms for her to step into. When she did he picked her up gently and sat her on his lap so she could see the books. 

“My, so you do have a fatherly bone in your body,” Dorian joked with a smile. It was rather adorable to see the Inquisitor like this. Banal frowned at him with a nasty glare. 

“Don’t let it get around, Dorian.” He muttered in warning. He did have a reputation to uphold after all. And the last thing he wanted was having a bunch of yelling children around Tarasyl’an. Oh damnation, no! He was getting a headache just thinking about it. He could stand these children because they were quiet. If only Vhena had been this quiet when she was…all the time actually. 

“What’s that?” She pointed to a picture Hawen had flipped to. It was of a beautiful structure with twisting vines of something crawling up it. Banal studied it for a moment. His mind brought up images of Arlathan’s white buildings that almost grew from the crystal spires. 

“That, da’len, was a building in Arlathan.” He told her. 

“But it’s not in the trees…” 

“Of course. Arlathan was a metropolis with buildings of the purest stones and crystal spires that twisted through trees and around the buildings. Some called it the Crystal City, the jewel of the Elvhenan.” 

“It sounds so pretty.” Another child sighed. 

Banal snorted. “It was beautiful on the outside, but do not think it was any different from other cities. That beauty hid its darker side, da’len.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He gave her a sad smile. “Immortality allows for a lot more than amassing knowledge is all.” The adults seemed to understand his words while the children furrowed their eyebrows. “You are children still, stay that way and do not worry about it.” 

They passed a few more minutes talking about the books before one of the children asked, “Do you have any stories, Hahren?” 

Banal blinked like that was an odd question. His companions were wondering as to how Banal had any of this knowledge. They could only assume it was something he had in common with Solas as they both seemed to know a great deal about an age long before their times. 

“I do not think I have any you would wish to hear…” Banal said carefully. While the Dalish strove to recover the past, he knew that revealing just how far off they were in so many important parts of their culture could very well break them. Like their vallaslin. Though he supposed it didn’t matter what they used to mean. The Dalish had changed their meaning into something prideful. 

Hawen frowned as though his answer was that of a stubborn child. “Come now, Hahren, we know so little. Any story you have would…” He paused to glance at the humans and dwarf, “would be very helpful.” It was like he was trying to ensure he didn’t give the shemlen any hints as to Banal’s identity, much like Deshanna. Not that they would even believe him. 

Banal sighed loudly, “Very well. Shall I tell you of the fall of those you call the Forgotten Ones?” Many of the children settled around them, though two twin girls moved behind Banal and actually started to play with his hair, braiding it while he spun his story. 

His companions had to stifle laughs at how the Inquisitor looked. It was like he was utterly done dealing with people. Or that he was a tired parent dealing with a crying babe. But to his credit he tolerated the little girls even as they pulled out his white streak so it was displayed in front of his face. Black was still the predominant color, but the white was putting up a struggle. 

It was now passed his chin.

*****

“Is it later?” Cole’s quiet voice actually startled Banal as he was just starting to doze off. They had finally been able to retire back to their camp after an hour or so of Banal telling stories. And he was actually exhausted from having to be that civil for that long. Not to mention those children…He could only stand the constant twitching and questions for so long. 

The Inquisitor blinked up at the spirit now standing in his spacious tent. Right he did promise Cole he could help. Now he regretted it. Couldn’t he just go to sleep? 

“You can sleep, but I can’t help there without you letting me in.” 

Banal frowned. The last thing he wanted was the spirit of compassion inside his head while he was sleeping. It was bad enough having Fen’Harel there. “Fine, but make this therapy session quick please. I’d like to sleep sometime.” Cole nodded eagerly as he sat down on the fur floor. With a hefty sigh, Banal joined him, sitting cross-legged across from the spirit. 

A stab of pain shot through his mind as the spirit touched him. Instinctively he recoiled, shoving the light away. “I can’t come in unless you let me.” 

“I know that, Cole, but that’s easier said than done.” He hissed. He closed his eyes, forcing his body to relax. It was rather like trying to not tense up when you know something’s going to hit you. His teeth actually creaked as he clenched his jaw. The light started to probe inside his head, moving this out of the way or that over there. 

Fire started inside his veins. Banal couldn’t help the hisses and growls that escaped his lips. His darkness was trying to eat the light but at the same time was trying to hide. He had to fight both instincts. His claws dug into his palms, drawing blood. 

Then the light latched onto something. There was still fire inside him, but as the light stayed in one place his nerves got used to the pain. 

Cole’s eyes unfocused, the world dissolving around him as he held onto the snake. Soon he elsewhere, in a dark place with bones for walls that cried in pain, but not there. He was in a different place within there… 

_The sounds of blades hitting blades echoed through the room. It was rather like an orchestra of cymbals and nothing else. It didn’t make it pretty per say, but it did make it loud and terrifying._

_Falon’Din watched from the edge of the room as Sulahn’mi crossed blades with Vhena. It was fascinating watching someone so innocent and pure wield a giant battle-axe. It was shaped like a griffon, her father’s animal apparently, its wings the blades. And it was easily the size of its wielder, and probably weighed more too._

__

Yet she swung it with as much finesse as she would a dagger while her father watched. He would correct her, calling out when she stepped wrong as Sula showed her just how wrong. Falon’Din winced every time the fire-haired warrior landed a hit, with the blunt side of her sword of course. Their weapons were also padded with practice sheathes and they had fully-functional armor on. Still Vhena was surely going to be bruised tomorrow. 

__

“Is there a point to this, emma lath?” the Creator asked quietly as Banal called for another round. The man looked at him from the corner of his eyes. 

__

“She needs to learn how to defend herself with something other than magic.” He stated calmly, leaning against the wall. The training room was…quite different from the rest of the temple. Not quite like the Inner Sanctum with its mini-marsh, but closer to what this place had originally been like. 

__

No bones made the walls. Instead it was a dark stone that had creeping vines covering it with blood red thorns and deep green foliage. Even the ground had moss growing on it. The air was humid, but didn’t smell of the sweat those training did. The middle arena was lower than the stone floor and was filled with sand. 

__

Of course there was still the ever present gloom that was only broken by Veilfire and a lot of blood stains, but Falon’Din had become accustomed to that. It came with the territory, he supposed. 

__

“Sula is uniquely equipped to ensure Vhena cannot use her magic.” Banal finished his explanation. The Creator nodded quietly. He could feel the void inside of the warrior. Most mundanes were like that, but hers was even more desolate. And more than that, it was a moving desolation, one that reached out at magic and tried to tear it away… 

__

“So you are actually parenting rather than just enjoying watching your daughter get bruised?” Falon’Din joked, bumping his shoulder against his lover’s feather pauldron. Banal’s lips twitched up in a second-long smile. “A little of both actually…” 

__

Cole pulled out for a moment. That wasn’t what hurt. He was happy then. He was whole, but with a part missing. What was the part? His memories? No they weren’t missing just not inside him. It was someone. A boy who held his fingers… 

The vision came quickly this time as the Inquisitor hissed loudly. 

_A knock shattered his silence. Banal rose his head from the book he was reading for the thousandth time. He had read every book in his library at least a hundred times during his time in hiding. He had been so bored lately, he had taken to writing sarcastic remarks in the margins or doodling scenes over the words. Blasphemy._

_But that didn’t mean he wanted to be disturbed. He frowned at the door as it creaked open. The moment the seal was breeched, a horrid wailing could be heard. His frown turned into an annoyed scowl of sheer hatred._

__

“Ir abelas, Master, but…” Nehnlin’s quiet voice strained over the wailing child. “He won’t settle down.” The rogue held the squirming babe in his arms, looking worried. Ververa was behind him, her quiet and calm manner frazzled as though she were the child’s mother. 

__

Banal knew he could give Ververa and Soralan the boy, fulfill that one desire. He looked similar enough to the Liar what with his black-tipped white hair that he could pass more for his son than Banal’s. But that child would forever be Banal’s and nothing could change that in their minds. 

__

The Forgotten One sighed loudly, “And you thought bringing him to me would help, N’lin?” 

__

The rogue gave a soft chuckle from behind his mask. “Babies often cry because they miss their parents.” Banal frowned more. That was a stupid thought. As though the babe that was perhaps four months old knew the difference between Banal and anyone else. “Hey, you could have two screaming babies. Be happy, his sister isn’t as fussy.” 

__

“She is fussy.” Banal grumbled as the pair came into his room. “Besides if this one learns that if he cries enough, you’ll bring him to me, who’s to say his sister won’t start doing the same?” 

__

Nehnlin and Ververa shared a look that conveyed their weariness. Nehnlin had taken quite a liking to the two, perhaps some older brother instinct he had tried to sever. He hardly let the twins out of his sight. Ververa, with the help of Lotus, was something of a substitute mother, feeding, changing, and what have you. Then all the others had their favorite. Sula loved the boy who laughed innocently at her tics. Sama loved the girl who often fell asleep listening to her sing. 

__

Banal wasn’t needed. Anything those two could ever want or need was taken care of. Moreover, just because the boy didn’t have fangs or some other deformity, didn’t mean he wasn’t going to become like his other sons. 

__

“Well, we can’t guarantee that won’t happen, but he’s your son. You haven’t even given him or your daughter a name.” Ververa tried. Banal snorted loudly, renewing the loud screeching of the child. 

__

“I told you to do it.” Was his only answer. He had learned to never get attached to something you were sure to lose. After the second son that tried to kill him, Banal’s heart was cold and dead when it came to them. 

__

The woman however, frowned before she took the baby in her arms. She walked determinedly to Banal’s desk and shoved him into his arms. “And I told you, they are your children, you name them, Master.” The wailing was nearly deafening this close. Banal winced and held the child away from his body in an attempt to put some distance between them. 

__

Nehnlin sighed, it was like asking a teenager to be a parent really. Or maybe a twelve year old. Granted it was a twelve year old that could snap your neck, but still a twelve year old. He couldn’t fault his leader of course. Banal had offered refuge, power, and anything else any of them could want without asking for anything other than loyalty. He knew the Forgotten One had a soft spot, had a heart somewhere he kept under lock and key. He had seen it before, had heard it when he called him beautiful and perfect. 

__

Ververa was scolding the man that was easily three times her age as though she were his grandmother. Sometimes Nehnlin wondered when they crossed the line of subordinate and superior and entered the world of family. The fact that Banal just glared his dissatisfaction at the tiny and normally quiet woman, told him the dark elf either thought so too or he was contemplating different ways to murder her. 

__

“Master, with all due respect,” Nehnlin interrupted before Ververa could get them both killed. “we can only give the twins so much. My baby brother was taken care of by the entire camp, but he still wanted our parents just to hold him.” He nodded to the fact that the child had stopped squirming. He was still crying, but he wasn’t wiggling and screeching at least. 

__

Banal glanced down at the child in his arms with a look of utter disdain. “Leave.” He growled at the two. The two shared a look before slipping out as their master shifted so he was actually holding the boy. “You are annoying, you know that right?” 

__

The baby just cried. Each wail just seemed to amplify Banal’s frustration. He wasn’t a father. He didn’t even remember his father or if he had one! How the hell was he supposed to know what to do with a crying ball of flesh? 

__

“Quit crying, you’re turning yourself red.” He grumbled as he stood up. He had seen some of the mothers of his other children walk around with the crying kid. He held back his growl as he walked around his small room. 

__

For a moment, he thought of just dropping the thing. That’d make it be quiet. Or just hold its small neck tightly till it stopped. It would simple enough and save him the trouble of doing it later when he could fight back. 

__

Banal’s hand rose at those thoughts. He could do that. He should do that. Save him the trouble of having to teach it to speak, or read, or fight. Just be done with it. His fingers brushed the soft skin of his son’s neck. So easy, and better for them both really… 

__

The crying seemed a distant thing now as his fingers wrapped around the neck. One hard squeeze… 

__

Yet his fingers would not clench. Even his claws were careful not to harm the infant. 

__

What was preventing him? What was another dead child to him anyway? This would be…the seventh son, but the eighth child he’s had. And the seventh he’d kill. So it wasn’t a thing of morals obviously. 

__

Then why couldn’t he get his hand to obey him? 

__

“Why are you different?” He asked the child. The boy’s cries seemed quieter now. “What made you different?” He didn’t expect the boy to answer. The others had pure black hair, various deformities ranging from as mild as fangs and claws to as disturbing as misshapen faces and added or missing parts. But here was a perfectly normal child with hair of white, only a small birthmark under his right eye to mar perfectly pale skin. His daughter was the same, save for the birthmark. Hers was on top of her left hand. 

__

He couldn’t understand it. Not only did they look different, but they acted different. They cried, they giggled, they cooed. It was odd that to Banal, this was unnatural. 

__

Little fingers touched his hand that was still around the boy’s neck. It shocked Banal out of his thoughts, in an instant recoiling. The boy was watching Banal with red-rimmed eyes. 

__

Those weren’t his eyes…Banal thought. For the first time, he noticed his son didn’t have his eyes. They weren’t green and red, but a pale glowing orange surrounded by a dusky purple. The colors of pride and despair, the colors of sunsets. And they seemed to look right through him. 

__

As though the boy’s skin was fire, Banal hesitantly put his hand back, index finger brushing against his jaw. Those little fingers once again touched him; this time they grabbed his fingers. 

__

It was odd seeing how small they were compared to his. They could barely wrap around one finger, yet held it tightly. Banal also took note that he had stopped crying. 

__

“Well at least you’re quiet now.”

__

“He just wanted you to let him near. He wanted to show you he was different.” Cole said suddenly, withdrawing. Banal let out a shaky breath, seeing stars. Only a few minutes had passed, but his skull was pounding. His skin crawled and his veins twitched. 

“He who?” Banal grumbled as he took to rubbing his temples. Why did he have to tolerate the spirit so much? Because compassion was less annoying than despair. He was merely taking the lesser of two evils. 

“Your son. The one with the eyes like sunsets.” 

Banal furrowed his eyebrows. He knew who he was talking about, but…Then it hit him. Orange and purple eyes, those eyes that looked through someone rather than at them. A dryness came over his throat. His stomach knotted more painfully than his skull. Why did it hurt to remember those eyes? To remember him? It was like thinking of Vhena again. 

“Did you name him?” Cole asked suddenly. 

“An’nas. His name was An’nas, da’nas, little soul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If enough people ask me, I might actually write Banal's story he tells the Dalish. I have it planned I just lack motivation to write the damn thing.
> 
> Come August I'll have fourteen credit hours of art stuff and a creative writing class, I may not always find time to write these stories every week. 
> 
> BUT I promise to finish this damn thing (Falon's stories included) for the first time in my short life. Then maybe I can finish my damn novel and make money doing something I love knowing that even if I don't become a bestseller, I got something going for me at least. 
> 
> And I thank you in advance for being patient whilst I amass debt and frustration all for a piece of paper and hopefully some knowledge.
> 
> Next one is nearly done. I was writing a dragon fight and realized that this huge chapter felt more like two, so you get two in one week.


	18. Magisters, Dragons, and Inquisitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banal is given a peculiar letter about Dorian, and fights a dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Next chapter is Halamshiral and then we get to the part I'm super excited for! 
> 
> Now I know I've already asked about Vhena coming in more and most of you really wanted Vhena for various reasons, what about An'nas? And the trio? (if you haven't read their stories go check them out please, Nehnlin's should be up soon; they are located in [Secrets of the Inquisition](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3673926) chapters 2-4)
> 
> Just think about that as you read for me please.

Josephine was the first person to greet them when they got back to Skyhold. Her face told them she was frantic. The Ball was perhaps a month or so away now and the Inquisitor still had not learned everything he needed in her eyes. Plus he had no outfit to wear unless by some miracle the Dalish finished it and it was on its way right at that moment… 

Banal’s already sour mood became even gloomier as he saw his ambassador. He wasn’t going to get a moment’s peace was he? 

“Inquisitor, it is good you are back. There are many things left to do before—“ 

“Josephine, before you start, I require a long bath, and a good meal before I even think of trying your shemlen Games.” Banal interrupted as he dismounted. A stable hand took Din’an from him, promising to have his saddlebags sent up to his room as always. 

All of them were sore from days in the saddle. Everyone was looking forward to a pleasant meal and an actual bed. Banal was hoping they had gotten his room situated finally. There was just so much comfort you could find in a room not your own. Plus that bed was atrocious. He could have a better night’s sleep on the floor if it weren’t so cold. 

“Of course, Inquisitor, I have already ordered a bath to be drawn in your quarters and a meal is to be sent up. We will continue your lessons there…” She checked things off her list as she read them. “If that is agreeable to you?” 

Banal sighed. “I don’t think I really have a choice, do I?” 

Josephine smiled rather darkly, well her version of dark. Which is to say an innocent darkness. It was good to know that the Inquisitor had resigned himself to this. Made it a bit more bearable. 

Cullen came over at that moment, noticing that they were missing one bald elf and had gained one younger elf. “Where is Solas?” He asked after his greeting. 

Banal shrugged. He couldn’t care less where he was. Far from him was perhaps the best gift. “I will give you my full report tomorrow if the Ambassador will let me take a break to find a scribe and dictate it to them.” 

“I will and I must also suggest again that you learn to write yourself.” Josephine told him with a firm tone. 

The Inquisitor rolled his eyes and ignored her. “This is Loranil, Commander. His Keeper has given him permission to join our merry band. I trust you will find something suitable for him to do, yes?” 

The young elf turned when he heard his name. Cullen nodded. “Of course we are always happy to have someone who already knows which side of a sword you hold.” 

***** 

Steam danced its way up to the ceiling of Banal’s small personal bathroom. It filled the air with smells of embrium and whatever else they threw in the baths. It was nice, warm against the constant chill of the mountains, and quiet for once. 

By the Void, did he miss the quiet. Even the library, where it was supposed to be quiet, was in fact one of the noisiest parts of the fortress. Squawking birds and any conversation you had was echoed around for all to hear. How Dorian stayed there for extended periods of time was beyond him. 

But Banal’s room was quiet, removed as it was from everything. He’d have to see about crafting a spell over the walls and floors to keep it a pleasant temperature. It’d take time of course. The Veil was thin, but not as it was before. And Banal was still weak compared to before any of his deaths. 

Those thoughts didn’t really bother him at the moment. He was more than content to sit forever in the warm water. He could hear someone leaving him food outside the door, but that didn’t motivate him to move. He had long finished cleaning his tired body, now he just wanted to enjoy the solitude. 

His thoughts drifted, still sore from the three therapy sessions Cole insisted upon. Banal thought he might never get rid of his headache at this rate. Dorian was right, it was like inviting someone in your house and catching them making off with the silverware. 

Just thinking of Cole brought a throbbing to his psychic eye. It seemed that allowing the spirit in once, just gave Cole a get-inside-your-head free pass. He didn’t even have to pay a toll. 

Banal groaned and slid deeper into the water, letting his tired eyes fall shut. 

His mind wandered back to some of the previous nights. Cole was obsessed with An’nas, said that pain was the easiest to fix. Or the closest one or something. And these sessions tended give Banal bad memory dreams afterwards, like Cole was knocking down walls as he went along. 

It was beyond annoying. If he had a choice between letting Cole inside his head and say…getting eaten by a dragon, he’d choose the dragon. Wouldn’t even blink. Speaking of dragons, he wondered if Harding had found him any dragons. It had been far too long since he had fought one of those. He needed a good battle to unwind before being paraded in front of Orlesian nobility for a night. 

Without the Inquisitor noticing, he slipped off into sleep. 

***** 

It was easier when the Inquisitor was asleep. He was more relaxed and attuned to the Fade. It let Cole show him things, things he didn’t remember, didn’t know but he needed to. It hurt him, but it was like draining an infection. 

So Cole sat on the battlements, pushing the images he saw into the Inquisitor’s mind with little resistance. 

_“No I swear it’s true!” Vhena giggled, pausing from taking a drink. “Vaan really did that!”_

 _Falon’Din furrowed his eyebrows skeptically. “The man drank an entire crate of vinegar because Jeagan dared him? I don’t believe anyone would be that stupid.” The Creator had gotten introduced to all the main followers weeks ago. It was rather hard to avoid it in fact. They were all curious as to who kept coming and…occupying their leader for hours at a time._

 _

To say they were interesting would be an understatement. This Inner Circle was filled with everything from a prince to a graverobber, a noblewoman to a drug dealer. Soralan the Liar confused the Guide beyond words. If his epithet was the Liar, was he lying about being a liar or was that just the truth? 

The Lotusmaker would always give him a knowing smile before they were introduced. Then he just kept suggesting different poultices and potions that would please Banal greatly and perhaps give Falon’Din the chance to be on top. Then there was the mercenaries: Jeagan, Arvaan, Yariel, Irenna, and Cvenna. Irenna didn’t talk much while Cvenna talked a lot. Arvaan and Yariel were brothers and often assigned as his guards. Jeagan was an old man that loved riddles. Every time the Creator passed him, he had a new riddle for him to try and solve. Maddening. 

“I never said my followers were the smartest elves in the world…” Banal muttered with a shrug. 

The air was filled with happiness and laughter. Those feeling permeated the perpetual gloom of the Temple. They turned the eerie sunlight into something comforting. It was nice. 

But like all things around Banal it wasn’t made to last. 

Sulahn’mi and Samahlnan hesitantly came up to the trio. The two looked disturbed and frightened like they had seen a ghost. Which was absurd. These two lived around death and corruption, ghosts couldn’t scare them. 

Banal’s eyes narrowed at them, sensing something drastically wrong. Vhena looked concerned. Falon’Din was just confused. What could make the Champion and the Blood Mage Assassin be that frightened? 

“M-master, you…you have a visitor…” Sama stuttered. Sula made loud hiccups as she forcibly blinked. 

“A visitor? Since when am I on the way of any—“ Banal’s face went from confusion to utter fury in literally three seconds. The change was so dramatic, the Creator had to look again to be sure. The air around them grew still, ice cold. 

“Aneth era…Papae…” came a new voice. It was hesitant and meek. It was a man that suddenly became a boy as it were. Falon’Din turned back to the priestesses. Nehnlin had joined them, a look of concern in his eyes as he led their new guest forward. 

An’nas looked nothing like his father save for his bone structures. It wasn’t just his pale hair that was kept short or his soft glowing eyes; it was how he carried himself. He seemed to try and make himself smaller or disappear. His eyes were downcast as he nervously bit his bottom lip. 

Falon’Din didn’t know the man and instantly became suspicious. The man was handsome, almost exotically so much like Banal. But then the Forgotten One spoke in a feral growl, “I thought I told you never to come back.” 

The man clenched his jaw tightly before he dared to raise his eyes. They were hardened amber stones, as they stared into the eyes of a dragon with equal stubbornness. “I guess that proves it then. I really am your son.” Falon’Din’s eyebrows flew up into his hairline. Wait, there’s a son? “We both never listen.” 

The Creator glanced over at little Vhena. She was conflicted, torn between happy tears and frightened tears. On the one hand, the man she was born with was back like filling a hole in her heart. On the other, she remembered the fight that ended with An’nas storming out. Just the thought of it raised her heart rate to frantic. Her body shook as she tried to contain everything. 

She wanted to run and hug him, but her father’s death scowl made her want to run and hide. 

Banal suddenly stood up, looking down his nose at the man. Falon’Din even felt the murderous intent in that gaze. “All my sons are dead.” He stated calmly. An’nas winced visibly. The three followers shared a sad look but didn’t speak. 

“Papae!” Vhena shouted. Even she thought that was uncalled for. But the instant those eyes turned to her, she felt an ice spike drive through her heart. Something about her brother set off their father. It was like looking at a completely different person. It didn’t matter that his white streak was over half his length now. The man before her was not her father, but the Elder of the Forgotten Ones. 

“Leave.” Banal barked before turning and walking away. Falon’Din stood up as well, watching his retreating backside. “It is time for you to go as well, Creator.” 

That just made him more confused. What did he do? “Why? I haven’t been here but an hour…” 

“Because I said so.” The growl in his voice told Falon’Din not to ask any more questions. It was just something he had learned. The dark elf had his boundaries that when crossed were a matter of life and death. Yet, Falon’Din hardly ever paid attention to those boundaries. 

The Creator frowned, looking back at the son and daughter. Vhena was next to him, comforting him, saying she missed him and what have you. “Would someone care to clue me in?” He asked the five. His lover was now pissed beyond repair, he thought he deserved some explanation. 

Vhena bit her lip for a moment, thinking. “Well this is my twin, An’nas. An’nas, this is…Falon’Din, Papae’s…uh…lover.” The normally outspoken girl suddenly became awkward which was odd. But the heat coming from the boy’s glare…Falon’Din shudder under its intensity. 

“My father must be desperate if he’s fucking your kind.” An’nas growled. 

Falon’Din closed and shut his mouth many times. Now, now he could see how An’nas was Banal’s son. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems to me that I could very well kill you, and actually gain affection.” Falon’Din retorted. The last thing he was going to do was let some child bad mouth him. An’nas frowned but it was obvious he knew that was true. 

Vhena then jumped in. “Hey now, let’s not fight. An’nas, Papae loves Falon’Din and vice versa, respect that. Falon’Din, I apologize on my brother’s behalf, he sometimes doesn’t think before he speaks.” 

“It is fine, Vhena. It just tells me he really is Banal’s son.” Falon’Din shrugged, still with his frown. An’nas narrowed his eyes more. 

“I doubt my father thinks so.” An’nas was apparently bitter about something. Seeing as family fights weren’t new to the Creator, he could practically sense some sort of stupid family argument behind this all. 

Vhena sighed softly as Sula stepped forward. “Falon’Din perhaps you can…calm the Master.” She looked hopefully at him before turning her gold eyes to An’nas who was easily a head and a half taller than her. 

“He is less combative with you.” Samahlnan added in her lilting voice. “In the meantime, An’nas you must tired and hungry.” She gently grabbed him by the elbow and began to lead him elsewhere. Falon’Din could only watch him. 

It was odd. Behind those fiery eyes was a sadness, a despondence. It was like he had seen things he should never have seen in his short time. It was like he was always on the verge of tears even when he said biting remarks. 

“I’m confused, dear, what am I supposed to do exactly?” He asked once Sula and N’lin had left as well, both with pleading looks on their faces. 

Vhena sighed again, looking at him with tears in her eyes. “An’nas always wanted to see the world, and Papae always refused. They got in an argument before my brother left. I always dreamed of him coming back and telling me all these stories…but not like this.” 

Falon’Din tilted his head. That didn’t answer his question. “What do you mean?” 

She shook her pearly curls slowly. “There’s something wrong with him. I feel it. I don’t know if it’s like that with you and your brother, but I just know something’s wrong with him…” Falon’Din pulled her into a hug. He knew exactly how that felt. It was a special connection only those with a twin could know. 

Vhena’s body shook as she let out a quiet sob. “Could you…could you try and convince Papae to let him stay?” She cried into his shoulder. Falon’Din winced. That seemed like it would be like trying to convince someone the ground was sugar. But he could hardly say that to the crying child could he? 

“I can try. But I don’t guarantee I can. Your father is as stubborn as a Hart.”

_

Banal’s mind jolted awake as his nose was covered by water. He coughed and spluttered as he shot up. His mind was again on fire. How did he know—Cole. Of course. The spirit was again showing him things he thought he should know. Question was: why was knowing that Vhena had convinced Falon’Din to have that stupid little fight with him important? 

“Inquisitor?” Josephine’s voice called from the other side of the door. For once, Banal was thankful for the intrusion. Anything was better than trying to figure out that riddle. Even shemlen lessons. 

***** 

Days passed in a blur of dance lessons, etiquette lessons, and reports. Josephine, Vivienne, and Dorian were all bound and determined to get Banal passed the point of murderous rage it seemed. Whenever he thought he was done with one thing, one of them would find some other useless thing he needed to learn. Why did he have to know the name of thirty lords? Why did he have to know the history of the de Launcets? 

Cassandra, Bull, and Cullen would actually have to break him out of the prison known as the Inquisitor’s lessons. Mostly they just claimed to have need of him in training new recruits. After all, he was the Inquisitor, all the soldiers wanted to meet him at least once. To be trained by him? You’d think they were all children on their naming day. 

Other times, Varric would convince them to let him have a break for Wicked Grace. Which the Inquisitor understood less. It was so different from the card games Samahlnan would play with the others. It was just shemlen…that was the only way he could describe it. 

A week from their departure date for the Ball was when a Dalish shipment came in. Josephine lost about five levels of stress at the sight of the three halls coming through the gates with one wagon. Banal, however, refused to let her see what they had crafted for the Ball. Said it was to make the best impact and a grander entrance. 

He did however start to wear different robes around Skyhold. The one that caught everyone’s eye was the one with Volcanic aurum chainmail and a blood red feather pauldron. It was distinctly Dalish in design, but utterly Banal as well. Not that that was a bad thing. Most of the servant girls (and probably a few of the guys, Dorian included) found the tight leather pants and teasingly form-fitting robe quite attractive on the Inquisitor. The fact that from far away the missing side looked to reveal bare skin was an added bonus. 

Then Josephine insisted Banal learn how to read and write. Insisted meaning she didn’t give him any other option. Dorian was appointed to be his teacher, which wasn’t unpleasant. The Tevinter at least made it interesting with his witty retorts. But when Banal didn’t wish to learn something, as Dorian found out, he would do anything to make sure he didn’t. 

Sometimes he would derail the lesson by throwing in a thinly veiled flirtation that would trip the Altus’s brain up. After all, the elf was the _Inquisitor_. There was no possible way for someone like him to stoop so low as to flirt with the dreaded Tevinter mage. Not to mention, Dorian was quite sure he had actually offended the man on numerous occasions. 

Like he was sure he was now. 

“Are you suggesting that slaves like how their lives are?” Banal grumbled. He had an odd mix of confusion and anger on his face as he sat across from the Altus. Dorian tried hard to recover his fumbling. 

“I’m just saying that most of them don’t know anything but slavery. And it isn’t as though they are all mistreated. Many of the slaves I’ve seen are better taken care of than Ferelden dogs.” Dorian knew he should stop trying to defend his country, but he couldn’t. He loved that damnable place too much. 

Banal’s frown deepened. He didn’t understand the comparison. All he knew was being a step up from a dog was not a good thing. He made sure his expression showed it. “I see.” Dorian couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit of anxiety rising in his body at those two words. They were cold and brittle, threatening to shatter into a million shards and destroy him. 

The Altus just wasn’t good at socializing with…well with people who weren’t considered to be a part of his social status back home. He knew that was stupid and prejudice but he was trained like that. And going against that training was like trying to unlearn how to cast a fireball or to not be sarcastic. 

“And were I born in your country, Dorian,” a little tension bled out as he was still on a first name basis with the Inquisitor, “would you have me in chains?” And the tension was back. 

For a moment, he was flabbergasted. Who just asks someone if they’d have them as their slave? Who? Thankfully, Dorian’s mind was quick and good at burying thoughts. “I wouldn’t personally, but there are some of my countrymen who would…be pleased to…have someone such as yourself.” 

Banal gave a cruel smile, one that was venomous. “Pleased? Because I’m exotic-looking I suppose? Or that I’m highly skilled?” 

Dorian fought hard to keep his discomfort off his face. “A little of both actually.” 

“Mmm,” the Inquisitor leaned forward with his head held in his hand, a dirty smile creeping out. He loved watching the human squirm. He also loved planting little seeds in people’s heads. It was fun to see if they would nurture them or let them rot. “And do you not find me exotic enough to be _pleased_ to have me?” 

Banal’s voice was so low and quiet for a moment Dorian thought he had misheard him. The Inquisitor couldn’t actually be flirting with him. Over slavery no less. But the half-lidded stare and teasing smile told Dorian that that wasn’t very far-fetched it seemed. 

He might as well own this game, right? The Altus straightened and put on his own perfectly calm façade. “On the contrary, I’d be very pleased. But it seems to me your _exoticness_ comes from your freedom.” _Though the idea of you in chains…does have its allure…_ Dorian thought. It was a rather dirty image his mind conjured up, one that had he focused on it he wouldn’t have to worry about blushing because all the blood in his body would have diverted south. 

“Ah yes, it must be truly exotic for an elf to be free and leading an army to…well to all of Thedas really.” Banal snorted as he sat back. He had seen that little dirty glimmer in the human’s eyes. It brought out some lighter speckles in those silver eyes. “Speaking of exotic, I managed to convince Josephine to finally get in various brandies if you’re interested.” 

“The Herald of Andraste drinking with the evil Magister? Maker what will they think?” Dorian mocked with a smile. 

“Whatever they wish. I care little for something as superficial as my reputation.” 

“So I’ve gathered…” The Altus chuckled. “I’ve also gathered your Ambassador had to open up cocoa trades. Is our dear Inquisitor addicted to more than just fine alcohols, I wonder?” 

Banal narrowed his eyes at the teasing tone. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” 

“Hmmm, must have been a rumor then. Pity.” 

***** 

The lesson was then cut short by the blowing of horns, signaling someone’s arrival. Banal, of course, had to go greet whoever was stupid enough to trek up a mountain. Or rather whoever was stupid enough to return. 

Banal kept his expression neutral as he descended the steps towards Fen’Harel. After all, no need to bear all their dirty laundry to everyone. But it was quite obvious both of the elves didn’t want to be around the other. It was seen in their stiff muscles and carefully guarded expressions. 

“I’m surprised you came back, Fen.” Banal grumbled. 

“As am I.” Solas replied. “Not as surprised as I am that you helped my friend when you could have easily just killed it.” 

Banal frowned at that. “I am not so petty and cruel that I would drag an innocent into my personal vendettas.” His voice was a restrained growl as he told the Dread Wolf with his eyes that he was still pretty sore about the whole being poisoned thing. Of course, Solas didn’t expect anything less. 

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Solas returned the glare. He wasn’t going to back down either. The Forgotten One needed to be stopped, or at least monitored heavily lest another Rebellion occurred. And Elgar’nan wasn’t here this time to stop it. For the umpteenth time since this whole thing began, Solas felt the weight of his actions heavily. Had he not given up his orb, Banal wouldn’t have this much power, and it would’ve been easy to stop his rampage. 

Now? Suddenly the Wolf felt like he was the Forgotten One and Banal the Creator. And it left a very bitter taste in his mouth as he went to his room. 

Banal watched him for a moment before the sound of someone approaching made his ears twitch. “Harding, for a scout you make an awfully distinct sound.” He chuckled as he turned to the dwarven woman. 

She smiled. “Well I have to warn you somehow, otherwise you might fry me for sneaking up on you.” 

“As though you could.” He snorted. She was surprised to see him in such a good mood considering moments before he looked like he was about ready to throttle Solas. “Have you had any luck?” 

Ah, of course, he was hopeful. “Yes, I have in fact. We’ve got a few dragon sightings out of the Hinterlands, the Storm Coast, Crestwood, and some University expedition is heading into the Western Approach to look for the Abyssal High Dragon as well.” The dwarf stood straighter as she gave her report, handing over a map with markings to show where they were last spotted. “There’s probably more, but those are the ones we could find.” 

Banal took the map as a large smile broke over his face. “Harding have I ever told you, you are perhaps my favorite scout?” 

***** 

Dorian looked up from his book to see if the Inquisitor had even attempted to make any progress, only to find the elf asleep. He had his head against the wall, resting slightly on his shoulder. 

It was odd. The normally vicious and stern Inquisitor looked so…peaceful. Like he was a child. Even the little scar on his cheek was softened. Dorian looked around the library, finding it nearly empty. The night had descended upon them quickly it seemed and he couldn’t find a reason not to let the elf sleep a bit more. 

After all, he was afraid to jinx this. Banal was eating, gaining some of his weight back, which only made how well he was built more prevalent. He was sleeping, or at least he would only go a few days without sleeping. You could practically feel the entire Inquisition collectively sigh in relief. At least the Inquisitor wasn’t going to end up killing himself. 

Then the Anchor flared, barely making a noise but lighting up the little corner of the table where his hand was. Dorian had studied it before, finding it fascinating. At times, it was little more than a faintly shimmering mark like an unopened Rift. Other times, it would flash like now and make its presence known. 

It usually only did it when the Inquisitor was distressed about something though. He looked peaceful enough right then that it was peculiar. There wasn’t much Dorian could do however, so he returned his eyes to his book. 

But he caught something out from the corner of his eye that made him look back. The Inquisitor’s journal was open over the book he was supposed to be studying. On its page was a nearly finished drawing of the library, some elven written on the bottom. 

The human bit his lip in curiosity before deciding it wasn’t like he was stealing the thing to read it. It was sitting out in the open after all. And he couldn’t read elven. He quietly set his book aside and picked up the soft leather-bound book. 

The library seemed to have been right there on the page in sketchy lines. There was Fiona in her little area, Helisma was there too. Dorian’s corner was the part that wasn’t finished; it was just a few sketched outlines of where things should go, but it seemed that the Inquisitor fell asleep before finishing it. 

Dorian hazarded a glance up at the elf, to ensure he was still sound asleep before he turned back to the last picture he had seen: the Fallow Mire. There were perhaps five new drawings aside from the library. One of the Grand Hall of Skyhold, complete with its newly installed throne and Varric in front of his fireplace, made him stop. Dorian was astounded by the level of detail. He could actually see Varric’s chest hair. 

He flipped another page, stumbling upon the Dalish camp. It was from the perspective of someone looking down on it from one of the rocky hills. The river shone and the sails shot proudly into the sky while halla milled about. It was peaceful, unlike how the Plains actually were. 

The next page was…the temple, he supposed. But it was slightly different. It was hidden in a forest with owl statues on either side of the entrance. He furrowed his eyebrows. That seemed familiar. All these drawings were hitting a little bell inside his head. Like he had seen this design somewhere else… 

He turned the page, contemplating it. This was of the tavern. Bull and his Chargers were in the background having a ball it looked like. Sera was at the bar annoying Cabot if his sour look was to be believed. And then a wispy, almost fleeting image of Cole was placing something on the windowsill. It was a merry scene, but it didn’t help his gut saying he’d seen this before. 

The last page, however, did. They had never been there, so Dorian didn’t know if it was real or not. But the towering trees with winding crystals in their limbs, the arch entirely made of entangled saplings and other fauna inside a marsh, reminded him of a similar picture Banal had pointed out to the Dalish. 

Only that picture was in a different book. A much older book. Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. Maybe he was just over thinking things. He looked closely at how the lines were drawn, how the trees and water was rendered. It was nearly identical to the style in the other book. 

Did the Inquisitor create fake journals to trick the Dalish into giving him what he wanted? He was manipulative enough for it sure, but he was so…polite to them the human had a hard time thinking he’d do that. 

Perhaps he had studied the drawings, or the artist, and copied it. It was plausible, Dorian guessed. He had known many great artists take on apprentices who learned their style and could produce nearly identical works of art for the master. Banal could have just studied ancient elven artwork and adopted the style. Not that there were many examples of ancient elven artwork…But if Banal knew exactly where those journals were, it stood to reason that he had seen them before. 

A small noise broke the Altus’s thoughts. He looked up at the elf who was twitching slightly in his sleep. The peace was gone, replaced by discomfort. That wasn’t what made Dorian blink confusedly though. 

It was the fact that he could see tear trails glimmering in the candlelight. Tears were even trapped on his eyelashes. The Inquisitor looked entirely vulnerable then. His chest quivered, making the small noise again. It was close to a sob, but also close to a squeak. Had he not been suffering from a nightmare, Dorian might have found it funny. 

Carefully he placed the book back. Then he gently began to shake the elf. Those bright eyes flew open with a jolt. Thankfully he didn’t try to attack Dorian like the human thought he would have. 

“Bad dreams?” Dorian asked softly as Banal looked around him. His heart was pounding. His head was heavy, nose stuffy. And he felt a wetness on his cheeks. Was he bleeding? Hesitantly he touched the wetness and looked at it. He furrowed his eyebrows at the tears, blinking many times to get rid of them. 

“Just a bad memory.” Banal finally answered, still staring at his fingers. 

***** 

Shortly after, Banal found his way up to the upper level of the tavern despite the freezing cold rain pelting him. He enjoyed the rain actually. It cleared his head, gave him something to focus on that wasn’t the images that played in his mind. 

It was always the same dream. He knew how it ended every time. Yet the spirit kept forcing it into his skull. Well, Banal was tired of it. Either the spirit told him a reason (and a pretty damn good one too) or Banal would turn him into a demon himself. 

Cole was sitting cross-legged on the ground in his normal haunt. He was making marks in the dust, sometimes stopping to listen to something, but otherwise he was just making random squiggles. Or perhaps it was writing. Maybe spirits could see writing, but didn’t know what it was so they just made up their own alphabet. 

Banal shook his soaked head, dripping water everywhere as he walked to Cole. “Why?” He growled. 

Cole looked up at him with those strangely unfocused blue eyes. “Why what?” 

“Why do you keep showing me that? What is so important that I have to relive it over and over again?” Banal strained to keep his voice down to a harsh whisper. He really wanted to throttle the spirit, maybe slap him around a few times. Anything to stop having to remember An’nas coming back. 

Cole didn’t even miss a beat. The Inquisitor was angry, but he was here which was good. It meant he wanted help. “You wake up too early.” 

Banal furrowed his eyebrows. So there was more to just repeating the scene to drive him mad? “And you couldn’t just, I don’t know, pick up where you left off?” 

Thunder rolled around them, rain pelting the glass. Cole slowly shook his head. “You need to see everything together, or you won’t let go of the hurt.” Banal had to resist enacting a very violent image in his head. “My neck doesn’t go that way…” the spirit blinked innocently. 

“I bet I could make it.” Banal grumbled under his breath, glaring murder at the spirit. Suddenly Cole held out his hand. 

“I can show you the rest now if you want.” 

Banal knew he should just purge the boy and be done with this. Yet…he remembered very little of An’nas, which somehow pained him. He knew he shouldn’t feel that. He had spent two years convincing himself that he had no son after all. This was just ripping open a scar, digging up a corpse. 

“But it hurts more to deny.” Cole said, picking up on the Inquisitor’s thoughts easily. “He…didn’t want to hurt you, so he left though that hurt you more. He didn’t know.” 

“He who, Cole? Many he’s have left me.” Banal reluctantly flopped down in front of him. He was going to need about three casks after this wasn’t he? 

“The Soul. He didn’t want to be like the others so he left. He didn’t know he couldn’t be like them.” Cole went back to squiggling in the dust. “Cracking, corruption could creep inside, but I don’t want to change. If I stay, trapped and tangled inside, would it just die? Would I hate him?” 

Banal furrowed his eyebrows. The child was literally worried about that? Who worried about hating their parent? Hatred was a given in a family. 

“So he left. He told old stories, sung old songs. He made people smile and forget. He was light, a solitary smile shining in a sea of darkness. He loved it, the stories, the songs. But not everyone loved to sing.” 

For once, Banal hated the riddle-quality of his words. If he pointed his ears and dropped a few pounds, Cole could very well be an elf. Elves loved to be cryptic; it was practically a part of their genetics. Right now, however, Banal didn’t want riddles and puzzles. Just tell him the lesson behind all this and leave him be. 

“What do you mean, Cole?” His voice was strained as he fought against the bloody images rising in his head. The spirit shivered feeling that emotion before looking up again. Calmly he rose his hand and touched Banal’s forehead. 

Little flickers of images flashed behind his eyes. A dark alleyway next to a rowdy tavern. The light poured out of the door, but it couldn’t hit that little side street. Then the image moved forward into that street, as though time was frozen. 

An’nas was there, but…there was blood trickling down from his nose. The exposed part of his chest held a nasty burn Banal remembered being a scar. Two shady looking men and one woman stood frozen around him. From the raised fist of one, the boot about to stomp, and the glimmer of fire, it was pretty easy to tell what was going on. 

Anger flashed brightly through his veins as the image disappeared. Cole stiffened feeling it. It was a good anger, a protective one. “I would kill anyone who did her harm…you said that once. But would you do the same for him?” Cole asked quietly. “The Soul is a part of the Heart; if you protect one, you protect the other. But you couldn’t protect him.” 

Banal gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to just start burning things. Which was peculiar. He shouldn’t feel this much anger at those people who are long dead. Yet he wanted to find their graves, raise them, and kill them a hundred different ways. 

“He wanted you.” Cole broke in. An’nas’s line that connected him to the Inquisitor, his snakes were very sad and very dark. They wanted to be healed. It made things easier when they wanted to be healed. “There. He wanted you there. To save him. But you couldn’t. He thought you hated him, and that hurt him more than the fire.” Cole narrated the thoughts he could grasp from the snakes. He didn’t like the people around the Soul. They were cruel and callous and greedy. 

Banal may have pretended his son was dead, but that wasn’t like he hated him. It didn’t make him father of the year either though. Children were just one too many levels of complexity for him to handle. Feelings were one too many levels of complexity in general. Like this feeling of pain. He wasn’t bleeding, wasn’t injured, and yet he felt like he was. 

“He killed them.” 

“I’m sorry what?” Banal blinked. An’nas? Kill something other than a spider? What alternative universe was he in exactly? Had he never left the Dark Future or something? 

“He didn’t want to, but they kept hitting him. He got angry. My father could wipe you off the face of the earth with one finger, but you keep hurting me?” Cole scratched his nose. The dark thoughts always made him itch. “He cried afterwards. They shouldn’t have been red.” 

Banal looked down at the dust markings. Flashes of Vhena choking on her own blood came from his mind. “For once I agree with you, Cole.” There was just some people who weren’t made to be fighters. He swallowed loudly against the pain that came up. “Is that all?” 

Cole cocked his head. He had pulled the last snake, letting that wound weep. He felt a little flare of light, white eating the black a little bit more. “You wanted to be a soldier, so that those who didn’t want to pick up a blade, didn’t have to. You became the dark so others would shine brighter, but the dark is just a cover, cloaking, created by a bright light.” 

Banal sealed his lips as he stood up. His skull was on fire now, eyelids heavy. “Alright, Cole, you’ve helped me. Now please stay out of my head for at least a month. Go bug Solas or Blackwall or anyone else.” 

Cole smiled sweetly. He had helped, taken away a bundle of snakes, letting the Anchor shine brightly. And he would keep helping ‘till all those snakes were gone. But he didn’t mind giving the Inquisitor a break. Helping hurts hurt sometimes too. 

***** 

“Inquisitor if I could have a moment?” Giselle’s voice carried over to Banal who was just leaving Josephine’s office a particularly long dance lesson. If he had to touch Vivienne one more time, he was going to snap her neck. Who needs to have that much perfume on? Honestly. 

He sighed loudly as he stared at the revered mother. He made it no secret he purposely avoided the gardens, or as he called them: The Chantry Pit. All those who were no doubt turning Banal into some faithful city elf that cared for kittens and orphans, haunted that particular area. The only time he went there was in the dead of night to check on some of the seedlings he suggested they plant. 

“I doubt this will take just a moment, Priestess.” He grumbled as he let her approach him. For her credit, she didn’t show her displeasure at his nasty habit of referring to members of the faith as priestess or priests. Probably thought him just an ignorant Dalish in desperate need of salvation. 

“I have news regarding one of your…companions. The Tevinter.” She began. Her voice told him that she did not care for Dorian much. He fought hard to keep his eyes from rolling. Did she have nothing better to do than plot against the Tevinter? 

“Has he stepped on some Ferelden or Orlesian custom? Or are you frightened that he pollutes Tarasyl’an’s mountain air with every Tevinter breath?” Banal snorted, telling her with his eyes that he couldn’t care less about this conversation. 

Giselle narrowed her eyes for a moment, giving him a stern look. “I have been in contact with his family: House Pavus, out of Qarinus. Are you familiar with them?” 

Banal had spoken with the man about his family before; it was unavoidable. Since Dorian had a knack for guarding his mind from magic, the Inquisitor was forced to go about finding the dark parts the old fashioned way: with questions. Plus Banal was bored. There was only so much shemlen scribbles he could stand to pretend to look at. 

“He’s spoken about them once or twice. They don’t seem to be on the best of terms even for an ordinary family.” Now he was suspicious. What did she know? The two never were in the other’s company for long. Dorian did mention that his Chantry was remarkably different from the South’s, which accounted for much. 

“Yes I believe you are correct.” she paused with a hopeful look, “They have reached out to me in regards to their son’s estrangement. They wish to organize a meeting without telling him because they fear that is the only way he would come. And if this letter is to be believe, he may very well have reason.” And here comes the favor… “Since you seem to be on good terms with the young man, I’d hoped…” 

Banal narrowed his eyes as she handed him the letter. He frowned deeply. He could see the letter ‘a’ and ‘I’. But that was the extent of his knowledge of the shemlen alphabet. For a moment, he became frustrated. It was like he was a child again, unable to understand something simple. Then it disappeared because it was just trade tongue. It wasn’t important. 

He looked up at her with a look of disdain. “You’d hoped I could get Dorian to go along with it. Or trick him to.” 

“I know that there is deception in this, but if it leads him to find happiness, is it not necessary?” She tried hard to appeal to the better nature of him, even though she wasn’t sure he had a better nature. “The family has sent a retainer to Redcliffe to wait in case Dorian does show.” 

Banal sneered. Yes let’s ask the man who has stated many times he despised treachery to trick one of his companions into a situation that was bound to go sour! Nothing would go wrong! This just stunk of ulterior motive, Banal thought. 

“And what if Dorian does not wish this?” Banal asked. 

“Then that would be that hopefully. And if not, well then you are far better suited to deal with this than I.” 

Banal could tell even without his magic that Giselle was trying to push him into getting rid of the Tevinter. After all, he had heard the whispers throughout Tarasyl’an slandering the Altus. She probably figured that if the Inquisitor himself booted him out, it would be a boost to Banal’s reputation for being faithful to the ‘true Chantry’. 

“I will not lie to Dorian. If he wishes to meet this retainer after reading this, then I shall assist him. If he does not, then you’ll just have to tell the family he’s not playing their games.” Banal kept his voice pleasantly neutral, but the bite his eyes held told Giselle she had best tread lightly. 

“Of course, Inquisitor.” 

*****

“Dorian there’s a letter you need to see.” Banal announced as he ascended the last step up to the library. The human was browsing one of the shelves as usual. His hand paused over one of the spines as he looked over at the Inquisitor who was apparently in one of his spells. 

“Is it a naughty letter? Some humorous proposal from an Antivian dowager?” Dorian scoffed. He got very few letters being the outsider that he was. He didn’t really worry that Banal was the one to deliver the message. The elf couldn’t read it if he wanted to. Leliana on the other hand had probably already opened it, read it, ensured there was no cipher, etcetera. 

Banal snorted, it startling the birds. He glared up to the rookery. Why the hell did the Spy need that many birds in one place? Why did they have to be inside the one tower that echoed? 

“I think you’d enjoy it much more if that were the case.” Banal looked back at the human, holding out the folded paper. “I am told it is from your father.” 

Dorian’s mood immediately soured. “My father. I see. And what does Magister Halward want with me?” 

“A meeting of a sorts.” 

“Show me this letter.” Dorian all put snatched the thing from his hand and began to scan it over. Banal walked to the railing, leaning against it as he watched Dorian pace back and forth. There were tiny little cracks showing in his defenses and Banal couldn’t help but slither inside. 

Anger was prevalent of course. Pain and despair centered around this Halward. But those little cracks didn’t let him see much more than that. Plus the human suddenly began to speak. 

“I know my son?” Dorian scoffed, pacing like a caged animal. “What my father knows of me could barely fill a thimble. This is so typical!” 

Banal kept his mouth shut. Only an idiot would poke that bear. While it was interesting to see Dorian so riled up, he wasn’t about to volunteer his own head for the chopping block. 

“I am willing to bet this retainer is some henchman hired to knock me over the head and drag me back to Tevinter.” 

“Oh my, and here I thought I was a shoo-in for worst father in Thedas. At least my son never suspected me of hiring kidnappers.” Banal snorted. Dorian’s fury cooled only a degree at the Inquisitor’s joke. 

“You are probably a saint compared to my father.” 

The dark elf cocked an eyebrow. “With or without my glowing hand?” 

“As I had never met you before it glowed, I cannot say.” Dorian looked back over the letter, seizing that anger once more. “Let’s go. Let’s meet this so called ‘family retainer’. If it’s a trap, we escape and kill everyone! You’re good at that. If it’s not, I send the man back to my father with the message that he can stick his alarm in his ‘wit’s end’.” 

Banal chuckled. “You know me so well, Dorian.” Then he sobered and measured the human. He was agitated beyond the usual. Strange seeing as he was normally composed like Vivienne. There was something underneath this all. But what? Banal could only guess. “I think it would be beneficial for you to meet with this man, find out what they want?” After all, Banal could see the advantages of having an ally in the Magisterium. Even if they were just an ally because Banal was supposedly holding their son captive…Either way, having leverage in a country he was trying to bring to heel was beneficial. 

“I didn’t ask what you think, did I?” Dorian snapped. Instantly he got what he described only as the dragon’s eyes. “That…was unworthy, I apologize.” The Altus covered, reigning in his temper. He was told he could be rather vicious when he was angry, much like his parents. Though his mother never seemed to get angry…Just get even. “There’d be no harm in seeing what they want, I suppose. But if I don’t like it, however, I want to leave.” 

Banal nearly rolled his eyes at how spoiled that sounded. “Pardon me, but I can’t imagine them saying anything that you’d like to hear.” 

“I can’t either.” 

***** 

“Uh-oh, nobody’s here. That doesn’t bode well.” Dorian muttered as he looked around the tavern. 

“Please, Dorian, I have the ability to open Rifts at will, I doubt an ambush would even be considered.” Banal scoffed as he stood in the doorway. 

“Dorian…” Interrupted whatever the Altus was going to say. 

Said Altus’s back stiffened visibly before he turned to the stairs. A much older version of the human stood there. It was rather odd to practically see an age-progression in real life. Of course, Banal was used to seeing five hundred year olds barely looking over twenty. Hell he was what? 6,725? Give or take a few centuries of course, but still he looked remarkably young. 

“Father.” Dorian grumbled as his face turned into a scowl. “So the whole story about a family retainer was what? A smoke screen?” 

“Then you were told.” Halward sighed. “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.” He nodded to the elf in the corner. Dorian glared at his father Apparently that was a bad move. 

“Of course not. Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor. What would people think?” Even Banal shifted on his feet. He suddenly realized how someone could get uncomfortable. This was a bit too…familiar. “What is ‘this’ exactly, Father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?” The last one was definitely sarcasm. 

Halward seemed like he was just done with this. He sighed loudly. “This is how it has always been.” 

The elf looked back and forth between the two men. It was rather like seeing his argument with An’nas for a third-party. Just two men glaring, hoping the other would back down or explode or what have you. “I’m no expert when it comes to family feuds, but in my experience it is best to talk,” Funny Banal never followed his own advice. 

“Yes, Father, talk to me. Let me hear how you are mystified by my anger!” Dorian growled. Banal nearly swore his moustache was puffing up. 

“Dorian there’s no need to—“ Halward started, as though trying to stop his son from saying something. 

“I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves.” Dorian clenched his jaw, not really looking at Banal. As though he thought the Inquisitor would have some shocked and disgusted look on his face. In fact, the elf had already guessed that. It wasn’t exactly a well-kept secret when you’re someone like Banal. He once wore his translucent tunic around Tarasyl’an, just to see who could be manipulated very easily (and also to make Josephine flustered as she was greeting some Ferelden dignitary who proceeded to fawn over him the entire eve). He had caught the human lingering a bit too long on him to be curiosity or distaste. 

“Aaaand in Tevinter I suppose that’s a big deal?” Banal supplied. Homophobia wasn’t new and was hardly a human thing. He had met hundreds of people who found such people distasteful or unclean. Hell, Banal was once accused of not making up his mind, or just being addicted to sex. 

“Only if you are trying to live up to an impossible standard. Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to distill the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader.” Dorian was almost snarling, still glaring at his father. “It means every perceived flaw, every aberration is deviant and shameful. It must be hidden.” 

_Well that explains you rather well…_ Banal thought quietly. After all, the human wouldn’t miss a beat when it came to some of the braver women flirting with him. But whenever Banal managed to sneak a flirt in, it was like he was showing the human a unicorn. Granted it only lasted a second, but Banal was keen to that brief pause. 

“And that’s what all this is about? Who you sleep with?” That didn’t seem like a big deal to the Inquisitor. The gender of who his children bedded with was far from his concern. Most of the time Banal prayed that they’d both be homosexuals. No grandchildren. Perfect. 

“That’s not all it’s about.” Dorian snapped. Banal’s light chose that moment to flare. He remembered An’nas now, and after Cole showed him what had happened…He couldn’t help but see a bit of himself in this argument. He could understand both sides a little better, but mostly he was able to understand Halward. Parents do stupid things sometimes. What should matter, however, was that Halward was trying to fix his mistake. It was more than Banal had done… 

With a heavy sigh, Banal knew he was going to make his white spot grow. “Dorian, I think you should listen. Perhaps your father has something to say.” 

Dorian turned around at last, glaring at the Inquisitor now. Since when did he grow a diplomatic conscience? “Let’s just go.” He took a step forward only to be blocked by the dark elf. 

“No.” Banal’s voice had an uncharacteristic authority to it. “You need to listen.” 

The human frowned deeply. “What happened to we can leave if I don’t like this?” 

“If you recall, I never agreed to that.” Banal fired back. 

“Dorian, please. If you’ll only listen to me…” Halward butted in. Banal could have throttled both of them at that point. 

“Why so you can spout more convenient lies?” Dorian whirled on his father. It was like he was corner on all sides. Here he thought the Inquisitor was on his side… “He taught me to hate blood magic. ‘The result of a weak mind’ those are his words. But what was the first thing you do when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to change me!” 

“I only wanted what was best for you…” 

“You wanted the best for _you_. For your fucking legacy, anything for that!” 

Banal even caught a slight tremor in the man’s voice. For a moment, he was reminded of An’nas, giving his heart a tightness. Banal had done many stupid things when it came to his children, but…trying to change him forcibly? That was a new level of stupidity. 

He was sure to glare at the magister as he walked to the Altus’s side. Since when did he become the caretaker? It was rather sickening that he had to provide comfort to someone. He wasn’t made for that. His veins had a throbbing needle pushing through them it seemed. 

“You didn’t give him a chance to speak, Dorian.” Banal said quietly. “As a father myself, I can tell you we aren’t perfect. Sometimes we make stupid decisions that usually cause our children great pain. And children do the same to us. But the only time it becomes hopeless for either side is when one refuses to listen.” It was actually sad that it took a thousand years and a spirit of compassion for Banal to learn that lesson. These humans didn’t have that long. 

Dorian studied the elf for a moment. He remembered that moment in the library where he looked so vulnerable. He was like that right now; a sadness in his eyes that had no end apparently. Dorian wondered once more the reason behind it as he gritted his teeth and turned back to his father. If the Inquisitor thought it was worth wild, he could at least try. He wasn’t hopeful about it though. 

“Tell me why you came.” 

Banal sighed. Could the human not be combative? 

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition—“ 

Dorian seemed to take offense to that as well. “You didn’t. I joined the Inquisition because it is the right thing to do. Once I had a father who would’ve known that.” Aaaand there he goes, Banal growled in his head. Could no one follow a simple order like listening these days? 

“Once I had a son who trusted me, I trust I betrayed.” Halward said after a moment of silence. Dorian stopped heading for the door, instead turning around at those words. Inside Banal was sighing with relief as well as vomiting his guts out. He definitely wanted to go kill that dragon now. He needed to. His body was about to explode from this much family drama. “I only wanted to speak with him, to hear his voice again, to ask him to forgive me.” 

Dorian’s mouth actually fell open slightly as he slid his gaze to the Inquisitor. Who had a smug smirk on his face that just oozed: I told you so, you daft bastard. That look made Dorian compose himself quickly. Maker, why did he act like such a child in front of him like that? 

“Oh wipe that smug grin off your face. It’s unbecoming.” Dorian hissed quietly. 

“I will not.” Banal continued to smirk. “I suppose you will be staying a bit to chat?” He looked over at the magister, receiving a nod. “Well then, we’ll be in the Queen’s Ravine, waiting for you then.” He shot a warning gaze at Halward, emphasizing the point that they were waiting for Dorian to come back so he shouldn’t try anything funny. 

And with that last frightful gaze, he left, hands twitching to feel the caress of dragon blood. 

*****

Bull and the Inquisitor ran through various drills. No one knew why the Inquisitor had dragged everyone out here, or why he was as giddy as a new Chantry sister. He couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes. They’d all gotten so tired of his constant pacing and fidgeting that Bull had to suggest they do some practice while they waited for Dorian. And the Qunari was noticing that the Inquisitor’s form was far more wild than usual. Not that that made it easier to best him. It made it harder in fact. Usually, Bull was able to read his opponent quickly and within a few minutes of a fight, but Banal…He changed every few strikes. Bull found it more infuriating than his normal guarded expression. 

“So, Boss…” Bull panted as they broke apart. “What’s got you so riled up?” 

Banal paused in his stalking to smile widely. Like he had just received a big box of candies. It was rather unsettling. Who was this Inquisitor and where’s the real one? “There’s a dragon nest in the valley. We’re going to go kill it.” Banal’s eyes moved to the little path down into the valley. 

Bull straightened, shocked. Then he got a big grin too. “Boss, I just want you to know…you’re the best!” He laughed, already feeling the adrenaline flowing. 

“Wait, we’re going to kill a dragon? Like one of those big heroes yeah?” Sera asked dreamily. “I’m game.” 

“You can’t possibly think you’ll be able to take down a dragon, Inquisitor.” Vivienne scoffed. Perhaps he had drank far too much brandy and was suffering from delusions. Or the Anchor had some adverse side-effects on his mental capabilities. 

“Enchanter, there was a hole in the sky created by an ancient darkspawn magister who put a glowing mark on my hand. Do not tell me what is possible or not. I’m a walking impossibility.” Banal growled with something akin to a pout on his face. Then he got a challenging grin again. “But if you don’t think you could take down a beast of legend, you are welcome to stay at the camp. Wouldn’t want you to chip a nail or you know…get eaten…” His cheery tone said he hoped she would be eaten. 

Vivienne just glared at him, practically letting him when this round. 

“I hope you have a plan as to how you are going to kill the beast.” Cassandra noted. She had found that dragons weren’t the easiest thing to kill. Having a plan would help considerably. 

Banal snorted. “You mean aside from stabbing it a bunch of times till it stops moving?” That’s what she had feared he would say. But then he chuckled. “I’m joking. Of course I have a plan. This isn’t my first dragon hunt, Seeker.” 

“You know, Smiley, you are scarier when you act like a child murderer in a candy shop.” Varric noted as the Inquisitor turned his generous smile to him. 

“Am I child who’s a murderer or a murderer who kills children?” He cocked an eyebrow. 

The dwarf shrugged. “Either is creepy.” 

Banal snickered. His hands kept quivering with excitement. The last dragon he had killed was long before he had any children and was just bored. Most people might do something productive like figure out the cure to a deadly poison or discover a new plant species when their bored. Banal, he kills dragons. 

“What’s creepy now?” Everyone turned to the Tevinter’s voice. Dorian had just entered camp. He was emotionally drained, but his father was on his way back to Tevinter so it was a victory he supposed. 

“Dorian! Good you’re finally back! And you don’t look any worse for wear…” Banal appraised him quickly. He needed this to happen now or he was going to explode in a fury off lightning bolts and fireballs. “We can get on to the plan.” 

Using his staff blade, Banal drew out the plan very quickly. “There might be dragonlings before the High Dragon lands. Ignore them. Their mother is going to be raining hell on us, not affording us a lot of time to get to the other side. But once she does land…” He paused to look at all his companions. “Obviously, the mages keep everyone covered, particularly Cole and the warriors. Sera and Varric find a safe place far from her to shoot at her. Varric, Wolf, and Enchanter, set up a lot of traps. Ice ones preferably in case she decides to sacrifice her offspring. Warriors, it goes without saying, but hit her as hard as you can. Try to focus on one leg at a time.” 

He nodded once, pleased with the plan. “And what are you going to be doing, Smiley?” Varric asked though he could guess. 

“What do you think he’s going to be doing?” Bull laughed. “He’s going to be tearing that thing to shreds.” 

Banal smiled darkly. “Of course. My blade can cut through her guard better than any of yours. Now, we have a dragon to kill…” He started to walk off before pausing. He turned to Dorian for a moment. “Dorian, do you know the spell Haste?” 

The Altus blinked. He just came back and suddenly they are going dragon hunting? It didn’t surprise him, but some warning would’ve been nice. “I do. Why?” 

“When I give you the signal, I want you to cast it. Bull when he does, I want you to throw me.” 

Everyone gave him an odd look. He was definitely drunk, wasn’t he? “Uh…what?” Bull asked. He didn’t doubt he could do it. The elf was quite small. Not as small as Sera, and a bit taller than Solas, but still small and compact. 

“I want you to throw me. Into the air. At the Dragon.” He spoke slowly to make sure they were following him. “I need to get to the back of the neck. So I need a boost up. You’re the tallest one here and the most capable of getting me airborne.” Banal shrugged like it was no big deal. “Don’t question the Inquisitor. Inquisiting is my job.” He laughed before sauntering off to the dragon’s nest. 

***** 

“The Ferelden Frostback, if I’m not mistaken.” Cassandra muttered as they peered around the wall to where she was patiently waiting. 

Banal was smiling ear to ear. Her golden scales glimmered in the sunlight. Her horns flashed dangerously as her big tail whipped along the ground. “She’s beautiful…I have to kill her.” He giggled. 

“Because she’s pretty?” Blackwall scoffed. Shouldn’t the Inquisitor…maybe act his age when they are about to go against a fire-breathing lizard? Or like a general or something that wasn’t a kid on Feastday. 

“No, but that is an added bonus. Just think of how utterly gorgeous armor made out of her hide would be. I might weep. I’d personally prefer an Ice dragon, but I won’t be picky right now.” All that mattered was he was away from Josephine’s dance lessons and there was a dragon. His day was complete. 

Without waiting for any other comments, Banal began to head straight for her followed closely by Bull shouting something in Qunlat and Sera whooping. Who did they let lead the Inquisition? 

The more calm headed people looked around before following. 

They all fell into their normal battle routine only with a lot more jumping around and there were more mages to ensure they were all covered. Banal for the most part used his ethereal blade to hack away at the thick scales. When she took to the sky or landed on a hill, he’d switch to his staff flawlessly. 

Sera and Varric had to keep moving about to avoid being caught by the Frostback. The mages were able to find a nice little niche the dragon paid little attention to, though were soon forced from it by a swarm of dragonlings. Cassandra somehow managed to bestow guard upon them all, giving Cole that added level of protection the dual-wielding rogue needed. 

Still they only had so many health potions and the wide sweeping fire breaths and swarms of dragonlings quickly depleted them. Soon they were down to only a few. 

Something in their minds told them to avoid the urge to take them. It was more important for Banal to remain awake and strong then for them to remain conscious. First to fall was Sera after she failed to dodge a fireball. 

Soon Vivienne, Solas, Blackwall, and Cole were downed. Banal wasn’t really paying attention. His vision was red around the edges, his blood pounding fast. Perhaps it was a side effect of the dragon’s blood used in the ritual, but he could feel a part of him singing joyously. That may have also been his adrenaline system. 

He slashed at one of her hind legs. Finally, the scales were starting to come away. Another swipe cut a thin line over her thigh muscle. She roared, jumping away from him. Now if they kept hitting her front legs, she should go down. 

Without any words, Bull and him narrowed in on her front legs. Cassandra panted, sweat making her short hair cling to her. But she too ran forward. The dragon’s hide was charred and frosty. Several scales were gone from her underside. Bodies of dragonlings were scattered around the valley. This fight was almost done. 

Banal spun, using the speed to gouge a large part of her scales away. Bull, his muscles starting to fatigue and quiver, slammed his great axe clean into her wound. Hot blood coated them as the dragon screeched. Cassandra slammed her shield against it. Something cracked, whether it was her shield or the dragon, they didn’t have time to check. 

The high pitch of it was enough to scramble a normal person’s head. For Banal’s highly sensitive elven ears, it was like driving a nail through his skull. Stars danced around his vision for a moment, the ground quaking as the dragon fell on her side. 

“Shit, how many kids can one dragon have?!” Varric yelled as more dragonlings descended upon the group. Dorian and the rogue tried to prevent them from reaching the two stunned warriors and their leader. 

The feel of something trying to bite through his arm armor brought Banal back to his senses. Without missing a beat, Banal brought lightning down. It arched to the other two dragonlings inducing seizures. The Inquisitor switched his blade hand. 

His blade shot through the young beast’s skull. It crumbled to the ground. Banal looked at the situation for a moment. The dragon was starting to get back up, stretching her wings as though she was going to fly off. Bull was breathing hard, bites and burns decorating his skin. Cassandra had blood running into one of her eyes as she slit an exposed throat. Dorian and Varric were having to move too frequently to get any decent shots off. 

If the dragon gets in the air, she might get to her nest that they couldn’t reach. Dragons were like that. They hid when they were close to death. Banal’s eyes found Bull, near enough to the dragon for their plan to work. 

“Dorian!” Banal yelled. The Altus paused to look towards his name. “Now!” The mage gathered all the focus he could get. He pulled and compressed the air around the dragons. At the same time, he decreased the amount of resistance around his companions. 

Bull turned towards the Inquisitor, feeling the weirdness of magic against his skin. It was sticky, but it was making him slick. The air didn’t resist his movements as much. Banal fade stepped forward. He managed to get a foot up and in Bull’s locked hands. Time was wonky. Bull actually caught the Inquisitor grinning and winking at him as he was tossed into the air. There was a little push of air against his hands, a blue light wrapping around the elf’s legs. 

With all the elegance of an elf, but without the finesse of a rogue, Banal twisted himself over the neck. His blade shot out, turning to a chain. He wrapped it around the beast’s neck as she slowly began to beat her wings. A tug brought him to her neck, his legs were dangling in the air mind you. His breath left him as he hit the hard scales, but he still managed to squirm his way onto it. 

He felt the spell winding down as he gained his footing. The dragon seemed to notice the elf’s presence as well. He needed to make this count. Especially considering even he would break some bones falling off a dragon. 

His chain reformed into a sword. The softest part of a dragon was the back of the neck, directly behind the head. It was protected by the horns naturally, so there wasn’t much need for thick armor. Plus she had to be able to move her head freely. Most people didn’t know this trick, instead they went for the thick belly armor in hopes of stabbing her heart. Or getting crushed by her feet. 

Banal slashed against her weak spot, opening it up. By then, the spell was gone. And she really didn’t like him there. She began to shake her head, buck, flap her wings viciously, anything to get him off. And she managed to do that. Just not how she had hoped. 

Banal gathered his magic in his legs, jumping up. He spun his body around. Using gravity to his advantage, he positioned his sword right at her weak spot. His body weight and momentum easily pierced the rest of the way in. The spirit blade met no resistance as it slid smoothly between two of her vertebrae. His body toppled over the side of her, effectively severing her head. 

Dragon blood sprayed into the air. The ground shook as the corpse fell. Banal felt a slight stab of pain course through him as he hit the ground, but nothing broke at least. He was covered head to toe in dragon’s blood. Most of his companions would be sore and stiff tomorrow with more than enough bruises to show for it. 

But he was content. He felt his bloodlust run out of his body like a sigh. He might even be able to stand dancing with a shemlen at this rate. 

Dorian, Varric, Cassandra, and Bull all sat down, breathing hard as the Inquisitor dusted himself off. Not that it did much good. “Well done. You killed a dragon.” He announced with a big grin. He took out the two potions they had saved and held them out. 

“You’re in a good mood.” Varric noted, passing the potion. He wasn’t that bad off. Bull and the Seeker needed them more. Dorian was already healing himself, downing another lyrium potion. 

Banal shrugged as he moved to stand beside the Seeker. He carefully looked over her wounds. She hissed as he touched her shield arm. He imagined she might have cracked it when she shield bashed the dragon. “So long as no one panics, I’m feeling generous enough to help with the healing.” 

***** 

Hours later they were all back at camp, wounds tended to and reduced to sore bruises and minor cuts. Banal was surprisingly a good healer. Granted he had to stop every time someone flinched because his magic would try to bite them. But still. The dark magic was cold to the touch, a bit slimy feeling, but if you didn’t focus on that feeling, it was soothing enough. He still couldn’t do the Resurgence ability, or revival, but he tended to the warriors while Dorian got the other mages healed enough to help out. 

Now it was nighttime and they were all back while the Inquisition agents combed through the corpses for any and all crafting materials. Banal was very adamant they get as many bones, scales, webbing, teeth, and vials of blood as possible. Said he wanted Dagna and Harriett to make something out of them. 

Bull and Sera were both ecstatic about killing an actual dragon. They raided the Inquisitor’s stash of alcohol and began to drunkingly sing out of tune. Varric was hurriedly penning what the hell just happened. After all, you couldn’t just make up the Inquisitor letting himself be thrown over a dragon and then standing on its neck like it was some trick pony. 

The others were trying to ignore the drunks. Even Banal had retired to his tent. A perk of being the Inquisitor meant he got a spacious tent equipped with table and a few chairs in case he needed to discuss strategy for something. 

Currently the only thing the table was being used for was drawing. Banal was calmly sketching out the dragon from memory. He wished he had paints, so he might capture exactly the way her scales looked. But paints don’t keep well on the road. He’d have to ask Josephine to acquire some for him to use in Tarasyl’an. 

Varric looked up from his writing just as Dorian peeked his head into the Inquisitor’s tent. The storyteller smirked. His story-sensing chest hairs were all aflutter. He had seen Fenris do the same thing with Hawke a dozen times. 

“I am not bothering you, I hope.” Dorian asked as he stepped inside the cozy tent. Banal shook his head just motioning to his journal. Apparently landscapes weren’t the Inquisitor’s only forte. “Ah, hoping to capture the moment?” 

“Of course, I’m told there are only a few dragons left in this world. Someone has to remember their beauty.” Banal chuckled. “What can I do for you, Dorian?” 

“I was hoping I might still be able to take you up on your offer of brandy. Bull and Sera seem to have drank the entire camp.” 

Banal snorted. “Hardly.” He tapped a hidden compartment on the table before he clicked the button that made it slide open. “I had the Spy’s people fashion this for me. Got tired of everyone drinking my liquor. It wasn’t what was intended, but I don’t foresee me needing to hide some cryptic message.” 

He produced a bottle of brandy, still unopened. He looked at the Tevinter. He was troubled, like he wanted to ask something else, but couldn’t find the words. “Perhaps this would be bested enjoyed away from the out-of-key singing?” Banal offered standing up. 

“I quite agree. Their singing could spoil even the finest Tevinter wine.” Dorian sighed as they walked out of the tent. Banal had to stop to tell the lookouts precisely where he was going at this time of night and why Dorian was going with him. The elf actually snorted and replied they were going to get shit-faced and partake in an ancient Tevinter blood sex rite to appease the almighty Old Gods for the slaying of their kin that Dorian absolutely had to do. 

He got a good laugh out of them. They looked horrified, like the actually believed him before realizing the Inquisitor was joking. Thankfully the guards had a sense of humor, otherwise there’d be a nasty rumor circulating through the Inquisition come morning. 

After that they slipped back into the dragon valley. Banal lead them up a small hill where they could overlook the land below. The stars reflected back in the water. A slight breeze made the grass sway. It was hard to believe this place was a dragon’s nest earlier today. It was so peaceful. 

Banal opened the brandy quietly. He didn’t even take a swig before handing it to the human. Dorian must have really looked like he needed a drink then. Not that he was complaining. He studied the bottle for a moment, noting this was an Antivian vintage. It wasn’t the best, but it was certainly a step up from Ferelden brandy. He took a big swig, letting the alcohol do its job and quiet his thoughts. It was followed by another and another. 

“I apologize for dragging you into all this.” Dorian muttered after a moment of silence. “And for being a right ass in the tavern earlier. I’m told that’s my specialty.” Both of them just gazed out over the landscape below. 

“You are not a father, Dorian, I understand.” Banal whispered back, softly enough to have been a breeze. 

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows at that. “What’s that supposed to mean exactly?” He was suspicious that was some jibe that flew over his head. 

“Sometimes it is hard for children to see the parent’s side is all I meant.” Banal shook his head. “I have the misfortune of seeing the other side however.” 

Dorian frowned at how the Inquisitor joked. For a moment he wondered if the man even truly loved his children. But before he could really think about it, the elf was speaking. “Children go from being these little creatures that always want to be with you and will do whatever they are told because you are perfect to them. Turn around and suddenly they are grown thinking they know the world better than you. And sometimes parents just get so tired of it, so frustrated that we make stupid choices alongside them.” Banal turned to look at Dorian, completely serious. “Be thankful you got a chance to start to fix things. Not everyone does.” 

There was old pain in his eyes, a vulnerability. It enraptured the Altus, pulling him in. For perhaps the first time, Dorian could see not just the Inquisitor, the Herald, or even the snappy dragon, but a man who had seen many things, a mystery of things, all shaping him into the being before him. 

“You sound as though you are speaking from experience.” Dorian offered him the bottle of brandy, hoping he wasn’t stepping on any toes. Banal took the bottle and threw back a gulp. It was weakly aged, dry with barely a hint of spices. But the alcohol hit his stomach with a burn. Not enough to take away the nothing, but it was still something. He handed the bottle back. 

“I had seven sons,” He paused a moment for the human quit choking. “All with different mothers, of course. Their pride equaled mine own, but they lacked brains in their heads. Wound up getting themselves killed.” Banal snorted. “Except for the seventh. He was Vhena’s twin, An’nas. In elven it means place of the soul, but sounds like enaste or blessing.” 

Dorian found it odd for the stoic and hardassed Inquisitor to have named his children something so…poetic? Or meaningful perhaps? “Take it he was meek and smart? Or more like his sister?” 

Banal’s chest had a dull ache. The wound Cole ripped open had finally begun to bleed. “Yes and no. He was very meek and smart, but also like Vhena. Far more open with emotions and whatnot. But unlike her, he had my attitude when he came of age. To make a long story short, Dorian, the day my son decided to leave, I probably said the same thing to him as your father did to you.” 

Dorian bit his lips in thought. Did he truly want to know? Then again this was probably the only time he was going to get the Inquisitor to be so open, and if he was being honest the vulnerable side of him was kind of attractive. 

“I don’t know, what’d you say?” Dorian tried to shrug nonchalantly as he took a sip of liquor. 

“If you leave, you are no son of mine and not to come back.” Dorian winced at the words. While his father had sent him away with the words ‘no son of mine’, it still hurt to hear them again. “Sometimes I wonder which of us was the child.” 

For a moment, Dorian thought he saw real hurt in the Inquisitor’s eyes. As though the man had figured out what regret felt like. He almost pitied him. Almost because Banal would’ve killed him if he knew he was being pitied. 

“Is your son no longer alive?” Dorian asked gently. If the boy was still alive, could they not use the Inquisition’s resources to find him? 

Banal sighed. “The Elvhen believe in…twin souls. One soul separated into two bodies as it were. When one half of the soul dies, the other soon follows it be it out of heartbreak or perhaps a fractured soul.” 

Dorian, while not entirely understanding the odd elven idea, could guess from the melancholy look that the chances An’nas was alive were slim to none. “For what’s it’s worth, I’m sorry. Can’t imagine how it must be like losing all your children.” Or having what would that be? Eight children? And Vhena was seventeen…so either Banal was older than he looked or started very young. 

Banal nodded quietly in acknowledgement. “I wasn’t much of a father anyway. I’m better at fighting then child-wrangling.” He shook his head to dispel the lingering thoughts. They were too painful, an infection. “But I take it your family talks went better than mine, yes? You are still here and not in some crate bound for the Imperium after all.” 

Dorian chuckled drily. “Don’t think he didn’t try to convince me to come back home. I told him if I did that, the Inquisitor wouldn’t have a proper support mage.” Then he quickly sobered as the Inquisitor finished his eyeroll. “He said we were alike. Too much pride. Before I would’ve been overjoyed to hear that. But now, I don’t know.” 

“Not that my sympathy means much but are you alright?” He was quite certain his sympathy was like having the sympathy of a rock really. But as a leader, it was his job to make those who stood with him were emotionally stable. Mentally stable wasn’t a priority, but emotionally stable was. 

“Not really, no. Maker only knows what you must think of me now after that childish display…” Dorian muttered, actually worried about the answer. 

Banal laughed. “I don’t think less of you. It takes…courage to break a mold, Dorian. I know that from experience. Not everyone has the stubbornness and thick skin required.” 

Dorian got a little smile on his face as he studied the Inquisitor looking up at the bright full moon. It struck him how beautiful he looked, like he was a mere spirit that’d disappear in a blink of an eye. Pale skin illuminated by the moonlight seemed to glow. Right down to his very alluring lips with their two little studs in the bottom lip… For a moment the human wondered what it’d be like to kiss that lip. 

Banal seemed to take notice of the human’s semi-buzzed staring for he turned first with a confused look. Then as he saw how the human seemed positively enthralled with him, he smirked. 

And Dorian just about had a heart attack. It was a playful smirk, one that had not graced his features for a long time, never in Dorian’s company at least. It was challenging, knowing exactly where his mind was going and daring him to act upon it. 

Quickly, however, Dorian reigned himself in before he could even begin to think of actually… 

The Inquisitor cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy, drawing Dorian’s attention again. Banal would not deny the very primal desire arising in him. Celibacy was never his thing. He had thought on these nights about getting Bull to have a little fun with (he wasn’t so proud as to not admit being a little curious about Qunari anatomy and stamina). Sometimes it happened because he found himself remembering trysts in his sleep, or merely watching the Qunari fight could sometimes bring it up. 

However, sometimes it also came with watching Dorian, trying to figure everything out. The cocky little human made Banal think of many uses for that clever mouth, not all of them exactly appropriate for camp. The more time he spent with the human, the more he came to appreciate the human body. Though he didn’t flaunt it like Bull, he was pleasingly muscular (in a different way than the Qunari), which would be a change from the lithe elven bodies he was used to. Which lead to an all too pleasing idea of tying him down just to watch those muscles strain. 

Dorian jumped a bit as the Inquisitor captured his lips. There was a needing behind the kiss, making it a bit hotter. Dorian barely had time to react before the Inquisitor pulled back so their noses brushed. 

Banal waited to see what the human would do. He had learned long ago to take these things where given. He had not really gotten the hint that Dorian would accept this before, but he couldn’t help himself. 

The human blinked at the elf for a moment. Did that really just happen? Surely it didn’t. Surely Dorian was just drunk in his tent imagining some wild fantasy. After all the man before him was the Inquisitor… 

Then again, if this was just a drunk dream, why not make the most of it? 

Banal let out a contented sigh as the human locked lips with him again. He ran a hand through the man’s hair just as the Altus moved his hand to hold his jaw in place. The Inquisitor had to restrain himself from biting, from shoving him down or pressing their bodies far closer. 

Instead he contented himself to feeling Dorian experiment with how his lip piercings felt. And focused on getting used to the slight tickle of his moustache. They broke a part for a few moments, pants lingering between them. 

The Altus chuckled to himself, “I see you like playing with fire, Inquisitor.” 

Banal smirked devilishly, “Of course, it’s not fun unless someone gets burned.” 

Dorian sat back with a grin. "Well, I think it's time to drink myself into a stupor. It's been that sort of day." Just as he was raising towards his lips, Banal was kissing him again. It was feverish and made Dorian's head spin. He didn't even notice the Inquisitor taking the brandy away from him. As they parted, Banal playfully bit his bottom lip. 

"I think you've had enough already. Anymore and you'll wake up thinking this was just some wet dream."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys should be good for a while right? I have to play through Halamshiral again in order to do the ending correctly. Don't worry I won't bore you with all the details, mostly just the few cutscenes since Banal's interactions with people differ greatly from the game. 
> 
> Plus I want to finish PaW soon (just two chapters left) so I can start on Falon's Inquisition before school starts again. And I also need to get another story (Thick as Thieves) ready, meaning I need at least three chapters done. And I'm currently really wanting to do a Zevran story among other short stories.
> 
> So the trade off of me releasing two chapters in one day/week, you have to wait a little longer for the next one. 
> 
> You win some, you lose some.
> 
> Oh and someone has nicely agreed to be my beta for this story, so no more (or at least far less because we are both humanoids) tiny jarring typos. So give them a big round of applause for being willing to help edit these 10-20 page chapters!


	19. Bring Them to Their Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banal dazzles the shemlen at Halamshiral (finally)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by "King of Everything" by Anarchy Club (aka one of the songs I listen to on repeat when writing Banal/his theme song) 
> 
> **Author's Note** Timeline got changed due to me actually reading. Fret not though, I made a visual finally! You can find it [here on my tumblr.](http://aeantizlkamenwati.tumblr.com/post/122871654301/just-a-little-timeline-i-had-to-make-to-keep-my) Basically Banal's 6,717 years old, and I'm going to go back through and fixing it to make it so.

Tarasyl’an was abuzz with last minute preparations as the Inquisitor, the advisors, and the companions were set to leave for the Winter Palace by dawn. Orders had to be given, strategies had to be made, and of course, lessons had to be learned. 

Banal was finally able to judge the prisoners in the cells, something he was all too happy to do. After all, all he did was find some little thing he could use them for usually. Damn anyone’s approval. 

But after that, he was spirited away to Josephine’s office for yet another dance lesson. The ambassador’s anxiety seemed to rise with every misstep he took. For a moment, he thought she was going to pass out. Instead, Vivienne, who had her foot stepped on for the umpteenth time, sighed loudly. 

“My dear, we’ve been going over this dance for over a month now. How can you be that ungraceful?” Her disdain and utter contempt were showing in her façade making Banal smirk to himself. 

“How can I be ungraceful?” Banal cocked an eyebrow. “Just because I have pointed ears does not mean I’m required to be graceful, Enchanter. Moreover, perhaps it is just my choice in dance partners that trips me up.” Finally the woman let go of him. He resisted the urge to suck in a big breath of fresh, non-Vivienne smelling air. Honestly, who needed that much perfume? Or wore that perfume? Sometimes it smelt more like a rotting field or some embalming fluid. 

Vivienne turned to Josephine, looking for some sort of help. After all, the Inquisitor made his disdain very clear. “Inquisitor, the Ball is but a week away.” The Antivan pleaded. “We leave for the Palace tomorrow and there’s no telling when we might be able to practice again and you’ve barely—“ 

The door opening stopped her panic rant. Everyone turned to the man in the doorway with his entertained smirk. “Josephine, there’s something the matter with the supplies. The loaders are asking for you.” Dorian chuckled. “And it sounds like there’s another lord here, awaiting to be greeted.” 

Josephine sighed loudly. She was going to get prematurely grey hair soon. Or her heart may just give out entirely. Banal leaned against her desk, watching the varying degrees of stress make individual frown lines. 

“I will handle the supplies, darling. You deal with the lord.” Vivienne offered. Anything to get away from the elf who was bound and determined to ruin her shoes. 

“So the lesson’s over for today?” Banal tried to sound disappointed, but he was far too happy for it to be convincible. “Aw, such a shame.” 

Josephine glared at him, before turning to the Tevinter with an evil look in her eye. If the Inquisitor thought he could get out of this, he had another thing coming. Rumor has it that the Inquisitor and Dorian were a bit friendlier than friends. Or at least that’s what was whispered among servants and nobles alike after they had returned from their dragon hunt. 

“Ah, Ser Pavus,” Josephine smiled at him. “I don’t suppose you would be willing to step in to teach our dear Inquisitor how to properly dance?” 

Dorian blinked many times. Banal’s eyes immediately narrowed on the Antivan’s back. She was just doing this to spite him wasn’t she? “I don’t think that’s necessary—“ 

“He hasn’t been quite able to master it yet. And we leave tomorrow. I’m just afraid the Inquisitor is just being difficult for difficulty’s sake. I’m sure you understand.” 

The mage had to chuckle at that. “Ah, yes, he is rather fond of being difficult.” Banal narrowed his eyes even more at the two humans. Dorian would almost swear he was pouting. “It would be no trouble to take over for you Lady Montilyet.” He bowed once. 

“Oh you are too kind. The Inquisitor can show you what dance we are working on.” And with that the two women slipped out of the office, shutting the door behind them. Banal even caught Josephine snickering before he turned his attention to the Altus. 

“So which dance am I to teach you?” 

Banal crossed his arms. “I don’t know. A shemlen dance.” 

“Well that’s specific.” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Would you like me to go get Vivienne back?” 

Banal frowned even more. “You do, and I rip that moustache off your face.” Dorian then stepped forward as though presenting a prize. 

“Then shall you show me what dance you are learning? I do rather like my facial hair.” The elf snorted before pushing off and meeting the human with a dirty scowl. He would admit he preferred Dorian over Vivienne, but he loathed this shemlen dance. It seemed so…void. Just a few steps repeated, nothing more. Elvhen dances were intricate, everything like a heartbeat. 

Still with a look that said he’d have more fun being skinned, Banal took Dorian’s hand and began to lead in the dance. Josephine told him it would be the one the he’d be expected to perform for any and all dignitaries who asked. 

As they went through the steps, Dorian was unsurprised that the Inquisitor knew the dance beautifully. “Let me guess, you were only pretending to not know this?” 

“I will not incriminate myself. Also Vivienne wears too much perfume and if I step on her feet enough, she ends the lesson sooner.” 

Dorian chuckled. “Well remind me not to put too much cologne on. You might cut holes in all my socks.” Banal gave him that rare smirk of his, the smirk of a wry cat. 

“Well I wouldn’t now, that’d be too obvious.” Banal chuckled as they went through the remaining steps with ease. When they gave their ending bows, Banal spoke again. “Now if you could please tell Josephine I no longer require these asinine lessons, it’d be most appreciated.” 

Dorian straightened with a devious smirk. “Oh? Just how appreciated?” 

“ _Very_. I might be so inclined to give you a reward.” Banal shrugged nonchalantly like there was no sexual undertones to his words at all. 

“I’ll take that into consideration.” Dorian looked towards the door, quite sure there were at least three eavesdroppers outside. The Inquisitor seemed to know this as well as he kept his voice devoid of its sultry tones. “Since you are apparently free for the time being, perhaps we might continue your other lessons?” 

Banal instantly lost his smirk to glare again. “I do not see the point of learning your language. I speak it, is that not enough?” Dorian found that the more you knew of the Inquisitor, the more childish he seemed. And that his pouting face was far more adorable than it should be for such a dark elf. 

“Well, wouldn’t you like to read your own reports, not have to believe everything everyone tells you is on the page?” Banal frowned, shifting on his feet. While he knew better than to believe no one would lie to him, it was hard to believe someone would try to lie when he was right there. Then again since Banal did not know the shemlen language, there was no reason for them to think they’d be caught. 

Dorian watched with an increasingly smug look as the Inquisitor seemed to draw to those conclusions with a displeased look. Banal didn’t say anything of course, that would be too hurtful to his pride, but the human could tell he had won the debate. 

Banal tried to reach into the Altus’s mind to grip the knowledge of the foreign language without having to put effort into it. It was a simple enough trick he had learned long ago. It came in handy when rooting out liars and conspiracies. Sadly, the human was quite adept at shielding his mind from dark magics, leaving Banal with a headache and nothing to show for it. 

“Fine, we’ll do it your way.” He growled to himself. Dorian cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t think much of it as he allowed the elf to walk passed him. He really did like watching him go. 

***** 

“Fenedhis lasa,” Banal’s voice sounded far more feral than it should have as he glared at the inane squiggles Dorian insisted were letters. This was far harder than it should have been. Which was absurd. Banal was not inferior in any way, and yet this lesser language was getting the best of him. It was enough for him to think of burning all the books in his library, at least then he wouldn’t be mocked by them. 

“I don’t speak your language, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say you are cursing.” Dorian chuckled at how infuriated the Inquisitor was becoming. The human lowered his own book to find the elf glaring death at the same page. 

Banal turned that glare up to the human. “Of course I’m cursing your foul language. Why should I not?” Their food that was brought up by one of the cooks lay near their table relatively untouched save for the fruit. The Inquisitor had eaten most of it, if only out of frustration and a need to release it in a non-violent way. He had already made three candles boil away. 

“Perhaps because it is a language and not an enemy?” 

The elf snarled, tapping his nails against the wood like he was stabbing someone with each beat. He had never believed the old saying about the old dog and new tricks, but it seemed it was proving true for him. Which only upset him more. He knew thousands of spells, could grasp new ones with ease, could adapt without a thought to nearly any situation. But here he was, struggling to learn the shemlen alphabet. 

Dorian couldn’t quite see what was going on inside the Inquisitor’s head, but he was pretty sure he was feeling somewhere between stupid and pathetic. The Altus silently placed his book to the side, to figure out what the Inquisitor was glowering at on the page specifically. 

“What is that you are having troubles with?” Dorian guessed he wasn’t going to answer. A pride thing probably. Banal, true enough, just glared at the page. “You are doing it again.” 

“I am doing nothing.” Was Banal’s knee-jerk reaction before furrowing his eyebrows in confusion and looking at the human. “Doing what exactly?” 

“Being stubborn for stubbornness’ sake. You do know that no one has ever learned a language on their own, yes?” 

Banal frowned but didn’t comment. It felt like a wound on his ego to ask for help with something as simple as letters. With a great sigh, Banal spun the book around and pointed to the letter in question. “That one. I know of no word that uses it.” He pointed to two others, “And those. What noises do they make?” 

Dorian tried not to laugh at how insulted he sounded. Instead he looked down at the letters the Inquisitor was intent on murdering. He pointed to the first, “That is the letter ‘y’ as in year and you.” The elf just frowned. 

“Those sounds come from other letters.” Banal grumbled, “Shemlens are apparently happy with frustratingly unnecessary things.” Dorian took a moment to think of how best to describe the peculiarities to someone apparently knew a different alphabet altogether. 

“Perhaps it was merely an aesthetic thing or to simplify. Otherwise we’d have vowels upon vowels strung together to make different sounds.” Dorian shrugged. Banal didn’t like that answer obviously. “Y is a tricky little bastard though. Sometimes it’s silent like prayer, or it sounds like ‘e’ as in cherry. But we’ll get to that later, my dear Inquisitor. For now, focus on learning the letters’ names.” 

Banal huffed irritably. “Your language is beyond annoying.” 

“I’m curious to know how the elven alphabet is different. Do you not have equivalents?” It wasn’t hard to think that if the elf had something he knew well to compare to this new thing, he might fare better. 

Banal took the quill and beneath Dorian’s script, he wrote out the elven alphabet. He even said the letter as he wrote it. While they were similar, the elves had letters for combinations of letters and some letters weren’t even there. 

The human blinked, his mind trying to wrap around learning the dead language. It certainly explained why the Inquisitor was having a hard time understanding this new language. “Hmm, well, now I know how you feel looking at my language.” Dorian laughed, hoping to make the elf feel less slighted. 

“You are trying to make me feel better.” Banal stated flatly. “It isn’t working. You do not even know how to speak Elvish as I do your tongue. One wouldn’t expect you to understand a language you do not know.” Banal let out a sigh as he stared at the page. His mind was struggling to make the squiggles turn into letters, something he could recognize. 

Dorian frowned. “And no one expects you to be an expert in the trade tongue either, Inquisitor.” The Altus was finding the elf was prone to melancholy just as much as he was prone to rage and pride. “Come, repeat the letters to me.” 

Banal sighed, suddenly realizing how it felt to be a child again. While he wished he was younger, he didn’t wish to feel that way. “Speaking of letters, Dorian.” Dorian frowned, figuring this was just another attempt to get him off topic. “Josephine brought this to my attention. Something about a Ponchard?” 

The Altus stiffened at hearing the name. How could the Inquisitor or Josephine know about him—Leliana of course. The little spymaster wasn’t against prying into everyone’s lives, save for the Inquisitor’s of course. Dorian focused back on the elf as he reached into his pocket. 

“She said something about an amulet as well.” 

Dorian’s good mood evaporated. “Don’t make an issue of it. I don’t need someone solving my personal problems for me, but I will get it back, somehow. On. My. Own.” Banal barely even flinched at the defensive tone the human took. 

“What exactly is this amulet?” 

“It’s…” He sighed, trying to find a way to explain it to the elf. “It’s the thing that you flash to make peons cower at your impressive lineage. I didn’t leave Tevinter much in the way of coin so I sold it. Entirely forbidden of course. And foolish, but I was desperate.” Banal nodded, understanding that vaguely. Like a family crest on a signet ring. 

“And you want it back because…?” Banal waved his hand for him to continue. 

“Because it’s mine and…it shouldn’t be passed around like candy.” Banal bit back a laugh at how childish that sounded coming from a grown man. “Think nothing of it; I will get it back somehow. Without your help.” 

Banal snorted pulling out the letter he was given. “I’m afraid that option seems to be off the table, Dorian.” He slipped it forward. He had no idea what was said other than Ponchard seemed to want a meeting with the Inquisitor. “I have no idea why he is contacting me, but Josephine has arranged for me to meet him when we stop in Val Royeaux.” 

Disbelief then anger flickered over Dorian’s face rather quickly. Why did everyone just bypass him and go straight to the Inquisitor for his personal matters? He felt invisible, and rather guilty of involving the elf so much. “Cancel it then. I will not…” He stopped as the elf was tilting his head. “You have too many people asking you for everything under the sun. I will not be one of them.” 

“Then I can only suggest you tell Ponchard that when we go to meet him.” Dorian glowered at the elf who remained passive. He was being beyond stubborn again. “I am expected to be there, Dorian. It would be rather rude of me to cancel so suddenly, no?” 

“You’re the Inquisitor, the bloody Herald of Andraste, I’m pretty sure no one would hold it against you if you told them you had to close a Rift near an orphanage or something.” 

Banal chuckled lightly. “I am an Elvhen, the shems are just waiting for an opportunity such as that to show how unsophisticated I am.” He threw in an eye roll to show he found the notion idiotic. But it was true nonetheless. “Besides, I’m looking forward to you yelling again. It’s amusing to watch.” 

Dorian glared his hardest at the smirking Inquisitor. “Festis bei umo canavarum.” 

Banal understood nothing about those words, but still smirked as he looked down at the book in front of him. “This is the letter ‘c’, yes?” Dorian glowered a few moments more before returning to their lessons. 

***** 

Banal jolted awake to someone knocking on his door. It took a moment for his groggy brain to comprehend that it was in fact still dark outside. Just a little line of orange was outlining the mountains. 

“For the love of death,” He growled, pulling his blankets tightly around him. He had spent far too long in a desert (and a humidly warm marsh before that) to enjoy the coldness of these mountains. And after his little trek through a blizzard, Banal hated the cold even more. His walls hummed with a fire spell, his floor buzzed with the same, trying to beat back the deadly chill. It still wasn’t warm enough for him though. 

The knocking continued. “Go away!” He yelled, burying himself under a mound of furs on his ornately carved bed. The craftsman was able to create a canopy and frame that mimicked trees. A sheer blood red fabric draped across the two branches running parallel overhead. 

He was starting to fall back asleep when he heard someone laugh. Josephine stood at the top of the stairs just giggling at the Inquisitor hiding underneath all that fur like a child. Slowly the dark haired elf emerged. His hair was frizzy and in his face that seemed about as pleased as a drenched cat. 

“We leave in an hour, Inquisitor, and you aren’t even dressed?” She tsked her tongue. “Did you not wake up for any of the three servants?” 

Banal swallowed a low growl. “No I did not. It is still dark outside and you expect me to be up and about? In this frozen hell hole?” The very notion of that was absurd. Never in his life had he risen at the crack of dawn. Gone to sleep at dawn, sure. But never woken up at it. 

Josephine tried her hardest not to laugh at his glowering pout. “You are packed yes? I’ll have some servants bring your things to the carriages. I suggest you start to get ready, Inquisitor.” She said this with as a sickly sweet smile that told him she was enjoying this form of torture. 

“I guarantee nothing, Ambassador.” He grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. She bowed and left the elf to his cat-like stretching. Within half an hour, the Inquisitor reappeared in the courtyard, still looking like a walking corpse. This was the first time many had seen him up so early, and he immediately put to rest the idea that all elves were morning people. 

If it were not for the cold, he might have fallen asleep standing up. As it was, however, Banal stood glowering on the steps, shivering terribly in his heavy coat. His hair wasn’t even braided, just tied near the bottom in an attempt to keep it under control. Some of them could sympathize with the hot-house elf. They could see their breaths hanging in the air after all. And for someone who apparently lived in much warmer conditions? This had to be torture. 

Still none wanted to go near the Inquisitor. He looked about ready to murder the first person who did. Bull couldn’t help but laugh as he helped carry some of Josephine’s things to one of the carriages. 

“What’s the matter, boss? Elves not built for a bit of cold weather? Or you just not a morning person?” The Qunari laughed, turning to the much smaller man. 

For a moment, Banal’s mind went bloody. Hot blood all over him would warm him up quite well; it was just the freezing afterwards that deterred him. So rather than enact his brief fantasy, he sneered. “I’m freezing my ears off because we apparently can’t wait for a decent hour to leave.” As though to emphasize his point, Banal covered his elven ears, rubbing to try and take some of the ache away. Humans had it so easy with their small, rounded ears. 

“We need to leave as soon as possible if we are going to reach Halamshiral in time.” Cullen explained, checking the horses’ harnesses. “If you are that cold, put up your hood and move around.” Honestly how could the man who led the Inquisition be so…whiney? 

Then he felt the prickle of magic over his skin and turned to see a very displeased Inquisitor with his dark aura around him. The air around it looked more like a mirage. The horses began to startle, some rearing, others throwing their heads around and pawing at the ground. What was even more frightening was that the grass around the elf began to shrivel up and die. 

“I am not as tolerant in the morning, Commander, remember that.” Was all Banal said before the darkness disappeared. Cullen and the others let out shaky breaths. They weren’t as used to that kind of magic as those who got to accompany him in the field. Then Banal got a small smile. “Well I am much warmer now at least.” He felt a little bite against his ribs as his magic settled back down, but the air around him was much warmer now. 

“Temper tantrums done for the morning done, darling?” Vivienne cut through the tension easily as she sauntered over to her carriage. It was apparently determined they’d ride in carriages rather than on their own horses. Much safer or something stupid like that. He personally just thought his advisers held a coin toss and Josephine won. 

“Your head is still attached, so probably not.” Banal grumbled as Josephine motioned for him to get into the carriage. Varric snorted a little as the Inquisitor disappeared into it. 

“Ten silver says he’s asleep before we reach the Hinterlands.” The dwarf joked loudly. As it turned out Banal was curled up on one side back asleep before they even left Skyhold due to some mysterious failings in the ties on some of the luggage. Thankfully it was only Vivienne’s that fell in the mud. 

***** 

Banal sighed loudly as he and Dorian began walking through Val Royeaux. He really didn’t want to come back here ever. It still stunk of hubris and feigned power. But he was the one that insisted they come here, so he kept his contempt hidden quite well. 

Dorian was very open with his contempt. In fact it had only eased when he saw the Inquisitor finally emerge from his room, wearing one of his damned see-through tunics. This one was colored black rather than white and the only armor he had on was his dragon scale gauntlet gear. Josephine nearly fainted when he told her he was meeting Ponchard. 

_‘That’s too indecent!’_ she yelled. He didn’t understand what the problem was; everyone was going to stare at him anyway, might as well give them something to look at. And most of the shemlen who passed by them seemed pleased by it, as disgusting as that was for Banal. 

“So where are you to meet him?” Dorian grumbled, trying not to get distracted by the barely concealed physique of the elf. He did this on purpose surely. To make sure Dorian couldn’t be too angry at him. 

Banal looked around the marketplace before spying a human tucked away behind two pillars. “I do believe that’s him, yes?” They walked over to him. The Inquisitor was wondering why he was hiding, and could already sense that the man wanted something from him. Of course, why wouldn’t he? 

“Ah, Inquisitor, Good, good this is exactly what I was hoping for.” Ponchard began in his grating Orlesian accent. Then the man’s eyes rolled over to the glaring Dorian. Still the man kept his happy demeanor 

Before Dorian could speak, Banal stepped in, “Yes, how could I not come meet the man who is attempting to manipulate me?” The human stammered before Banal continued, “What is this about exactly? Did you just want to be seen conferring with the Inquisitor in hopes of garnishing more power? Or a sorry excuse of a blackmail attempt?” 

_Well, at least the elf realized he is being used_ , Dorian thought. It did somewhat bring his temper down to a simmer. Ponchard, however, seemed positively insulted. 

“I would never use someone as esteemed as you like that, I assure you.” 

“No but you’d use someone with my power surely. Out with it, my ambassador will have my head if I don’t return quickly.” Banal crossed his arms. Ponchard seemed to realize he’d get nowhere denying he meant to use him. 

“Do forgive me, Inquisitor, but when I heard of your…association with Monsieur Pavus, I could not resist.” Banal narrowed his eyes. Association? The way he said it made it clear he was implying something else. Banal knew many of the nobles that haunted his grand hall liked to gossip; two in particular seemed to find nothing better to do than talk about his relationships. They had also mentioned something about hats, which was lost on him, but he was pretty sure the comment had something to do with him and the Altus. 

“Of course not, hurry up.” Banal grumbled to himself. 

“It is not coin I seek for the amulet, but influence.” The man quickly hurried on sensing the Inquisitor’s growing displeasure. “Influence you possess but the young man does not. Provided, of course, you…desire the amulet. For your friend?” 

Banal narrowed his eyes at the tone again. People still loved knowing who was bedding whom apparently. Not that they were to that point yet, just a few stolen kisses in the library when everyone was asleep, though Banal wished to be at that point. “And why did you buy the thing in the first place?” Dorian tried not to take that as a jab to his person, but that was hard. 

“I only bought your friend’s amulet because of what it is. I do business in the Imperium and having a birthright, even one not your own, is most useful in…select situations.” Ponchard held up his hands like he was trying to calm the elf. 

“Hmph, he’s got the right of it there.” Dorian conceded. 

“That’s why I gave the young man so much. If he relinquished it, how is that my doing?” 

“Do not try to feign innocence, shemlen. I care not for it. What is it that you think you can get from me? What do you wish my influence to do?” Banal rolled his eyes, about as enthralled by the conversation as he was by grass growing. 

“The League de Celestine is an organization of wealthy noblemen in Orlais. I would join, but I lack the lineage. If someone like you were to apply pressure, they would admit me. _That_ would be worth the return of the amulet.” He smiled from under his mask. 

Banal snorted, looking about the marketplace before settling on the shemlen in front of him. Did he honestly think he could use him? No one has ever used him. “I know I’m going to regret asking you this, but Dorian care to share your thoughts?” 

Dorian turned his glare to the Inquisitor. “Leave the man be. I got myself into this, I should get myself out it.” He nearly growled. 

“Perhaps you should accept your friend’s help, monsieur.” Ponchard added gently. 

“Kaffas! I know what you think. And he’s not my friend, he’s—“ Banal’s death glare stopped his words in their tracks. “Never mind what he is.” 

“As you desire. Even so, that is the price, I shall accept no other.” 

Banal then turned that glare to the merchant who actually flinched from the sheer intensity of it. Did all elves have such frightening eyes? And how did the young man stand it? “If this is your demand, I shall see it met.” 

“What? You’re going to give into this cretin?” 

All of the elf’s patience was being used up in this one little conversation. It was rather like telling An’nas no, he could not climb the vines in the inner sanctuary. Still, he could see no other way short of killing the little human where he stood to get the sentimental piece of jewelry back. As to why he wished to get it back in first place that was indeed a mystery to him. It’d be far simpler to just let Dorian try and get it back by himself. Yet that obviously wasn’t going to happen. 

With a heavy sigh, Banal turned to the Altus, “Do you want your amulet back or not?” 

That seemed to stop the mage from getting very angry. “Yes, I do; I simply—“ 

“Then it’s settled.” Banal cut him off, turning to the merchant. “You’ll have your acceptance soon.” 

“Much obliged, Your Worship. The moment I receive an invitation to the League, I’ll have the amulet delivered. It’s been an honor doing business with you.” He bowed and slunk back to whatever rat hole he crawled out of. 

“And then the Spy wonders why I wish to let all of Orlais fall…” He mumbled once the human was out of earshot. He could practically feel Dorian’s displeasure on his skin. 

“Are we going to have a lover’s spat in the marketplace, Dorian? I have told you I find you attractive when you are angry, yes?” 

Dorian gritted his teeth. The elf seemed adamant about deterring his rage. “I don’t want to be indebted to anyone, least of all you.” He grumbled as they began to walk back to the inn they were staying at. 

“Who said I was doing this so you’d be indebted to me?” Then Banal paused thinking of how to turn that to his advantage. “And even if you feel that way, I can find some way for you to repay me that we’d both enjoy.” He gave a dirty smirk that the human didn’t miss. 

“Kaffas, you are insufferable.” 

Banal snickered. “And yet you are still here.” 

***** 

Josephine paced back and forth in the foyer of their inn. The companions all watched her. It was the afternoon of the Ball and the Inquisitor had yet to appear from his room. They did not know who he was going to bring with him, nor if he had everything in order. This and more made the Antivan’s anxiety levels rise dramatically. 

“Calm down, Josie,” Leliana laughed. “I’m sure he is just sleeping still.” She grabbed the girl’s shoulders to make her stop her mumbling pacing. “We can send someone up to check on him, if you are that worried.” 

“There’s still so much he has to go over and then there’s what he is wearing to the Ball…He can’t possibly think not to wear boots, right? I do not even know if the Dalish crafted something up-to-par with Orlesian standards and then there’s the masks—“ 

“Calm down, Ruffles. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.” Varric chided from where he, Sera, Bull, and Dorian were all playing Wicked Grace. Solas was playing chess with Cullen not far from them. 

“I would not worry too much, Lady Montilyet.” Solas spoke absently, “The Inquisitor is more suited for this than you may know.” Indeed, the Shadow was born for the Orlesian Game. He had practically invented it. 

“Cole, I don’t suppose you know what he is doing…” She tried, looking frantically at the spirit. He sensed she was worried. The Game was played to the death after all and she did not think the Inquisitor was ready to take on the Court. That worry for him was twisting around her heart. 

Cole tilted his head to the side, listening. The Inquisitor would forgive him, he was sure. “He’s…sleeping, exploring, seeing what was or what might have been.” Solas nodded like he understood. 

Dorian, however, furrowed his eyebrows along with Sera. “How is he exploring something that might have or might not have happened?” She asked. 

“He is Dreaming, leave him to it. Nothing is worse than being jolted from such dreams.” The apostate clarified as he moved a pawn. 

Sera frowned. “So he’s being all magey right now? He’s not going to attract demons, is he?” 

“It is a possibility, but the same could be said for anyone who dreams.” 

“But Dreamers, if he is one,” Dorian started, not believing such a thing to be possible anymore. “attract demons far more often than normal people, if I’m not mistaken.” Cassandra’s and Vivienne’s minds both went to the same place. They had thought him possessed before, and though he had assured them that was not a possibility. It was apparently a very likely possibility. 

“Only if they are weak willed, Dorian. Keep in mind most Dreamers do not survive their childhoods due to demons possessing them and them not being able to survive it.” Solas pointed out. 

“But that is not to say he couldn’t fall prey to one now, darling. He is just as much a risk as any of us, perhaps more so with the Anchor, we mustn’t forget that.” Vivienne stated coolly. It didn’t feel right doubting the Inquisitor, but they knew so little of him and it seemed like a very real possibility that he could fall prey to demons. 

Varric shivered thinking of the Fade and its demons. He saw how with a few words a demon could turn even Fenris against them. And Smiley was not so different from Broody. If some demon came along with some great promise, would the Inquisitor resist or give in? None of them could say for sure. 

Solas doubted the Shadow would allow a demon to manipulate him, without manipulating the demon himself that is. But he wasn’t worried about Banal turning into an abomination. He was already that really. No, what frightened the Wolf so was that Banal was capable of so much evil _without_ being possessed. 

“Why is everyone looking so serious? Please tell me they cancelled the Ball, the Empress is dead and I can go back to killing demons?” The Inquisitor’s voice cut through the tension as everyone looked up to the second floor’s railing. Banal leaned against it, hair combed but unbound and shirtless. 

Leliana frowned at his comment more than his apparent distaste for wearing clothes. “No, we were just discussing who would be best suited to wake you up and not come out a corpse.” 

Sera snorted, “Pfft, obviously that’d be Dorian. Those two are sweet together, yeah?” Dorian glared at her while Banal didn’t understand a single thing she said. Some of the others though laughed. Cassandra just rolled her eyes. 

“I don’t see what’s the rush. The Ball isn’t until tonight.” Banal sauntered down the stairs. Dorian, of course, caught little flashes of something over his left hipbone, but the hem of his pants obscured it so it could have been a trick of shadows. What he was certain of was the little bits of red peeking over his right shoulder. 

“There is still much to be done, Inquisitor.” Josephine then launched herself into the list of everything he needed done by tonight. And there was the Inquisitor, casually eating an apple, watching her with amusement. She honestly thought he was going to do this sort of work when he had to save an empire? 

“Josephine, correct me if I’m wrong,” Banal interrupted, studying his apple, “but isn’t the point of having advisers that they handle all my affairs for me when I have better things to do? Or are you three just pretty faces meant to provide ideas and headaches?” Josephine’s mouth clicked shut. “I am going to a shemlen ball to save a shemlen empire from a corrupted shemlen mage, Ambassador. Either I do everything on your list and end up killing the first human that calls me knife-ears, or I ensure everyone walks away from Halamshiral unscathed.” 

They all wondered if he was joking, but the look on his face told them he was not. Leliana was the first to speak. “A word of advice, Inquisitor, avoid using the word shemlen at the Ball.” 

Banal snorted. “Of course, fade-forbid anyone but elves be referred to by racist slurs.” The humans all kept quiet. They all knew that the night was going to be filled with such slurs directed towards their Inquisitor. And there wasn’t anything they could do about it, or to help him. Not that he needed help dealing with petty insults. He showed that with a smile. “No matter, by the end of the evening I will show all the humans that an elf can play the Game better.” 

***** 

Josephine anxiously tapped her foot by the gates of the Palace. The Inquisitor still hadn’t shown his face. They had left him at the inn per his request after he had told them to decide who was coming with him. Vivienne, though she and the elf were less than friendly, offered to come to ensure the Inquisitor didn’t make too big a mess. Dorian also offered to come, if only to keep the elf in line. The two mages were the best suited for this sort of thing after all. 

The tricky part was deciding who else would come. They only had enough ‘plus ones’ for four of them. Varric offered since he was the only one able to talk the elf out of murder most of the time. Cassandra declined, not wanting anything to do with the Game as did Blackwall. Which left Bull, Sera, Cole, and Solas. Cole couldn’t come, Josephine was adamant about that. She was not going to try to explain why a young man was seen taking all the grapes or something. 

Sera was another obvious no. She was most likely going to do something heinous and the Inquisitor wasn’t going to stop her. So Bull and Solas were her only real options. Neither expressed much interest in going to the Palace, but both were willing. They were both excellent at reading people, but Solas and Banal were much like fire and oil when together. So she had ultimately decided on bringing Bull. 

Once that was decided and everyone properly dressed, they had ridden out to the Palace. Without the Inquisitor. Josephine mentally kicked herself for letting the elf, who said in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want to go, to stay behind. She just prayed Cassandra would get him to come… 

As though her prayers had been answered, the gates opened with a loud screech. Inquisition soldiers marched through just as she wandered to the edge of the steps to see for herself. She could scarcely believe her eyes. 

Banal waltzed through the gates, looking more like some elven prince than a Dalish elf, as she had feared. Even from afar she could see he had much jewelry on, but not an obscene amount, just enough to display power and wealth. Many nobles in the gardens below grew silent watching him and Gaspard speak. 

When they were finished, the Inquisitor talked to a woman to return her ring before he finally started for the Palace entrance. Josephine was both mortified and amazed. Mortified because he still wore no boots. Amazed because he carried himself much like the nobles, but somehow…better than them. His braid that now showed the short sides of his head swung back and forth with each graceful and measured step. 

“Inquisitor, I…” she started as the elf sauntered over to her. 

“Well, Ambassador, do I pass?” Banal chuckled. Her eyes looked over the elf once, marveling at how the Dalish had constructed so beautiful in so little time. The snofleur trimmed coat was the deepest black with obsidian designs on the front. In the dim light, she could make out a silver threaded design hidden so that you would only see it as flashes of light. 

Of course, most people wouldn’t be paying attention to the coat, not with it only being buttoned once near the hem of his pants. Much of his chest was open to viewing, though his iridescent silk shirt made it seem modest despite the fabric being sheer. 

“I…am amazed that the Dalish were able to craft something so incredibly lavish…” She managed to get out of her daze. Banal laughed again. Her eyes met his. They were playful, like he was beyond amused. 

“Never underestimate the People, Josephine.” He smiled. Then he raised his chin to look down on her like prey. “Shall we go dazzle the Court?” 

“Of course, Inquisitor.” She shook herself out her daze and started to lead him to the gate. “Where did you get the crown?” She glanced back at the circlet gracing his head. It was silver crafted to look like tree branches or perhaps halla horns coming out of a crow skull. It was somewhat grotesque, yet it looked quite right on the Inquisitor for some reason. 

“The Dalish crafted it from silverite we gave them. I do believe the sentiment is that I am an equal to any she—human.” Banal caught himself very quickly earning an approving smile from Josephine. 

“Well you will certainly leave an impression.” She chuckled as they walked through the gates. “I do believe I saw one of the de Launcets faint from the mere sight of you.” Banal rolled his eyes with a smirk. “Of course, who would not faint gazing upon such an attractive elf?” 

She laughed to herself, tension running out her body for once. She knew of a certain mage that might certainly faint upon seeing him and that thought kept her smiling as they entered the Palace. Everything would be fine. 

***** 

Dorian and Bull both nearly choked on their wine. Varric had to do a double-take. Surely that wasn’t their elf? He looked too…sophisticated? Regal? Calm? 

Yet the black haired elf stood at the top of the steps, looking about the gilded room with a calm expression. The place stunk of so many different perfumes and colognes mingling with scented candles that it actually hurt to breathe through his nose. Banal could feel eyes upon him with every move, eyes that fixated on his delicately tipped ears he had made sure to accent, if only to shove his race in people’s faces. 

It was all so normal, like everything else had been a dream and he’d never left Court. Which was ridiculous of course. He had been exiled from court some six thousand years ago and hadn’t stepped foot in another since. And Elvhen court didn’t have as ridiculous fashions. 

Still, he felt much more in his element as he turned to see his companions all staring in varying degrees of disbelief. Slowly he walked over to them with a smirk. “Dragon got your tongue?” He asked. 

Varric was the first to snap out of his surprise to laugh. “Didn’t expect to see you so…noble looking, Smiley.” 

Banal snorted, candles bringing out gold and silver highlights in the fur around his neck. “What? Am I savage now?” 

Vivienne refrained from commenting. She had already heard many whispers of there being an elf savage here as a joke of Gaspard’s. She doubted that would phase the man though. “I am rather impressed that the Dalish did not dress you in something more…barbaric.” Her eyes caught on the crow skull. Her lips formed a disapproving frown. 

“And I’m impressed you agreed to wear that.” Banal motioned to the red uniform. It was far from her style, shapeless and far too constructed to be flattering on any woman’s body. It was almost as funny as seeing Bull in a similar attire. He didn’t think they made shirts big enough, and was a touch saddened by the Qunari’s clothedness. 

“It is not that bad, Inquisitor.” Dorian chuckled, bringing the elf’s eyes to him when they started to linger a bit too long on the Qunari. It started a small flicker of jealousy in his chest without his permission. But it was quickly doused by Banal’s eyes looking over him. 

“Hmm, not on you, no. Red is a very flattering color on you, Dorian.” Banal smirked. Cullen shifted uncomfortably from the blatant flirt, which only brought the Inquisitor’s eyes to him. Banal’s smile quickly turned evil as he saw how the man fidgeted. “My, Commander, you look rather dashing without all your armor on. I’m rather jealous of your Chantry now.” 

The man turned a very bright red whether from embarrassment or anger, none could tell as he glared at the Inquisitor. Dorian had to agree with the elf; the ex-Templar did look astoundingly handsome. But he kept silent unless the Commander’s head might implode. He instead looked back at the elf, noting that he was once again flaunting his beauty. 

Not that he didn’t mind the tease of skin or the allure of the ice-like silk. He was pretty sure no one save for Vivienne, Varric, and Cullen minded it. And at a ball with strange outfits and brilliant splashes of color, the pure blackness of the coat just drew you in, like the darkest shadow you wanted to know what lurked inside. At the same you didn’t. 

Banal locked eyes with Dorian, still with his smirk as he caught him staring. The elf winked before turning to Josephine. “Well, I suppose I should go dazzle the Empress now. Anyone coming?” He waited for them to nod before turning. The light caught the silver threads, igniting the hidden designs. Upon his back was the Inquisition symbol, but it was made into a tree. The sword was the trunk, the flaming eye a part of the branches. Roots spread from the tip of the sword. It was very elven, yet also not. 

Much like the man wearing it. 

***** 

Almost everyone was surprised by how civil Banal was being as he bowed to the Empress. It was the first time he willingly bowed to anyone, yet it didn’t seem like he was showing subordination. It was more like he was acknowledging her power, and that this was her house. 

In fact, it was apparent he wasn’t giving power to anyone. The way he walked was that of a predatory animal, one that knew itself bigger and badder than all the rest and thus showed no fear. Vivienne was impressed by how well he covered all weaknesses with such an air. He truly did grasp the Game. But she didn’t think this calm façade would last long. 

After all, many people were sneering behind their masks already. They just knew of the Inquisitor, that he was a man and a mage. The Chantry had ensured few believed the Herald of Andraste was an elf. It was only a matter of time before Banal’s temper flared at being thought lesser. She just hoped he had enough tact to allow Leliana to take care of all the assassinations he was surely going to demand. 

And she was right. Not about the assassinations, but about his calm not lasting long. Before the first bell tolled, he had disappeared entirely. Bull searched the public spaces for their elf, coming up empty of course. Leliana hadn’t seen him either. 

So the Qunari wandered into the Gardens, hoping the Tevinter had seen him or better yet, that was where the elf was hiding out. Sadly, Banal was not there, but Dorian was at least. Meaning the two weren’t off having some hot-and-heavy sex in some dark corner. Josephine could breathe easy. 

Dorian immediately noticed Bull coming up to him. He cocked an eyebrow in a silent question. Leliana and Cullen gave them specific places they were to watch for signs of their assassin. The Qunari’s was the hallway outside the gardens. Yet he was abandoning his post for some reason. 

“Don’t suppose you’ve seen the boss anywhere?” Bull asked when he got within earshot. It was low enough eavesdroppers couldn’t hear him out of habit. Dorian took a sip from his wine, swishing it around in his mouth for a moment. 

“Perhaps.” Bull was the one this time to raise an eyebrow. “I may or may not have seen him climb up the wall to the library. And I may or may not have been told to cover for him.” 

“And he didn’t think to inform anyone else? You know how many people have asked for him? What’s he looking for up there anyway?” 

Dorian shrugged. “I don’t think he’s looking for anything aside from a quiet place.” Banal had come into the gardens with the dirtiest scowl on his face, so the Altus thought better than to grill him when he asked for Dorian to create some distraction for him. 

Bull nodded, understanding the want to be somewhere no one was gawking at him. The amount of people that talked about him like he couldn’t understand them made him want to wear some fancy noble skulls for a mask. “He’s been gone awhile and Josie is starting to panic.” 

Dorian caught the nudging tone and sighed. “Why does everyone send me to fetch him?” 

The Ben-Hassrath chuckled, “Because I can’t find Varric anywhere and you two are the only ones that he isn’t likely to kill. Or would you rather I go ask Viv to get him?” 

“No, we don’t want to ruin half the palace. They’d never invite us back.” Dorian mocked before pushing off the statue he was leaning against. “Don’t be surprised if you’re minus one mage.” 

The Qunari’s laugh followed him out of the gardens as he went to get another glass of wine. 

***** 

Dorian slipped into the library unseen. What he found was not what he was expecting. All the torches were alight with strange fire. It wasn’t Veilfire or Banal’s normal blue fire. This was orange with little flickers of green, but it felt like Banal’s magic. 

Speaking of the elf, he was pacing up and down the aisle with the most displeased scowl to date. His breathing was rapid, his body shaking under whatever was left of his control. Apparently, the elf wasn’t having a very good time. Dorian kept silent, waiting for him to be noticed. He watched Banal pace a few more times before it was apparent his mind was somewhere else. 

“If you continue like that, you’re going to make a rut in the floor.” 

The Inquisitor barely paused to look at the human. He supposed it was a matter of time before someone noticed his absence. Yet he loathed to go back out there and be insulted for the umpteenth time. What’s more, his magic was straining terribly against all his restraints. There was so much fear and pride here that it wanted to drink until he was drunk on it all. It didn’t help that somewhere there was a Rift humming irritably against his Anchor. 

“The flooring is the least of my concerns.” Banal grumbled, continuing his path. 

“I don’t know, that rug isn’t hideous; I think you should at least pretend to care for it.” Dorian shrugged as he dared to go closer. The Inquisitor just gave a snort as he began to rub his temples. “Take it, you’ve nearly had your fill of Orlesians?” The Altus was used to the snide comments and upturned noses. The elf might not have been, or at least he didn’t have the temper for them. 

Banal slowed slightly. “In part.” He let out a loud breath, frustration bubbling up and releasing his words. “Five different people have commanded me to fetch them more wine, _five_ humans _commanded_ me. Four of which referred to me as rabbit.” Dorian winced slightly at how offended he was. 

Prior to coming to the Inquisition and having to work with an elf, the Altus hadn’t really thought how calling one rabbit was beyond insulting. He had always considered it a lesser offense than knife-ears. Yet he was having to retrain himself from thinking like he was above them. 

“And did you remind them that this ‘rabbit’ is the last hope for Thedas?” Dorian asked softly. Banal snorted. 

“I wished to flay them alive. But no, I ignored them.” Then he sighed again. “On top of the idiots and their horrid mixture of body odors, there’s a Rift somewhere that’s…” He gripped the bridge of his nose, “making it hard to concentrate on anything but the Anchor’s incessant buzzing.” 

“Well you haven’t killed anyone yet, that’s something.” Dorian noted as he stepped into the elf’s path to stop him from actually making a rut. He held out the wine. “You look like you need a drink more than I do.” Banal looked down at the goblet then back up at the human. 

For a moment, he was struck with his normal suspicion of humans. Was this wine poisoned? Or was he just trying to get him drunk to try and take advantage of him? Then his more rational mind pushed those thoughts away. What could Dorian stand to gain for poisoning him? Unless he was Venatori of course…Which was highly unlikely. 

Banal didn’t believe a great many people, but he believed the mage when he said he wanted to stop his countrymen from being stupid. He could sympathize as well. He had done the same eons ago. 

“Ma serannas.” Banal mumbled as he took the cup. “I suppose Josephine is looking for me?” He asked before taking a large gulp of the dry wine. 

“You know you’re supposed to savor wine, yes?” Dorian chastised as the Inquisitor drained his goblet in a few swallows. Banal set the empty cup on a table and turned to the human. A ghost of a smirk graced his features. 

“I have learned to only savor two things: the quiet and,” He slid himself flush against the human and snaked his arms around his neck. Without missing a beat, he captured the mage’s lips, easily slipping his tongue inside him. Dorian froze for a moment before his hands gripped the Inquisitor’s hips. The human had the advantage of height, allowing him to overpower the elf’s tongue and slip inside his mouth. When they separated, Banal breathed, “and good company.” 

Dorian chuckled, “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.” His eyelids fluttered a bit as the Inquisitor played with the hair on the back of his neck. 

“That you should.” Banal felt a flicker of lust run through him, turning the fire to a blood red. Dorian’s eyes darted over his shoulder to one of the torches, but he became too concerned with the elf nibbling on the exposed part of his neck. 

He let out a contented sigh, though in the back of his mind he knew they should go back to the ballroom. Unconsciously, he pulled the elf closer, eliciting a soft groan as their hips moved against each other’s. 

Sadly the Inquisitor pulled back, hearing a bell begin to toll loudly through the palace. He growled in his throat. “Of course they choose now to require me…” Banal grumbled. He turned his attention back to the human, still playing with his soft hair. 

Dorian gave a mock glare. “I hope you know I don’t let just anyone touch my hair.” Banal laughed as he smoothed what he messed up back down. 

“Duly noted.” He stepped out of their embrace to straighten his clothes. He looked over the human to ensure he looked presentable as well. Then he remembered something. “Oh, that’s right; Dorian, I don’t suppose I could get you to read these to me?” 

Dorian blinked at the request coming out of the blue. The elf was apparently able to switch interests with ease. “Depends on what I get for doing so.” He challenged, making the Inquisitor look at him. Slowly the elf raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m sure I can think of some way to repay you for this and for…” He looked for a sufficient word, “distracting me.” 

“I look forward to it, Inquisitor.” He waited for the elf to reach into his coat. He caught a glimpse of chainmail sewn into the inside before Banal pulled out the two letters and handed them over. The Altus quickly read over them, aware that the Inquisitor was required back in the ballroom soon. His eyebrows raised in surprise as he skimmed over the words. “My, you uncover some of the best blackmail, don’t you?” 

“So I should take it to the Spy?” 

“Hmm, this one seems to be suggesting something is in the servant’s quarters. And this one is some sort of peace letter. Judging by the blood stains, the messenger is dead.” Banal nodded, explaining how he found it on the body of a dead Council messenger in a locked room after he had investigated the arcane adviser Leliana told him about. “So we need to get into the servant’s quarters…I shouldn’t have a problem, it’s the rest of you that needs help.” 

Dorian frowned. “You need to get back to the ballroom, is what we need.” The second bell began to toll. Banal sighed. 

“And here I had just gotten the stink of Orlesian out of my nostrils.” 

***** 

The evening continued to grate on Banal’s nerves. It wasn’t that he hated functions like this. In fact, he loved them. They were ripe with intrigue, blackmail, and pride, things he could feed off easily. What he hated was kissing up to shemlen. Granted he did uncover a lot of gossip and blackmail himself, which Leliana used to the best effect. 

But still, the longer the ball went on, the more Banal was convinced he might as well put himself as Emperor. None of these people knew how to play the Game well. It was child’s play to wrap the Court around his little finger, slowly, adeptly. Just as it was easy to guess Florianne was trying to lure him into a trap the moment she approached him in the ballroom. 

Still he didn’t let on how much he was beginning suspect her. Instinct told him not to trust any of the nobles he had to deal with. But those instincts flare brightly around her. After all, why would someone who stood to gain the throne, should both Gaspard and Celene end up dead, advocate for peace? 

Banal had lived far too long, seen too many kings and queens come and go to believe for one second she didn’t have something up her sleeve. Which was the only reason why he agreed to dance with her, to see what she wanted. That and he got a kick out of the horrified expression Josephine had when she saw him leading the Grand Duchess out onto the dance floor. 

He kept his answers short and vague, answering questions with questions. It was all child’s play to him. He was told that Orlesians wore masks to hide all weaknesses. Sad really. If they had any true mastery of the Game, they wouldn’t need such things. Instead their eyes betrayed them no matter how hard they tried. Whereas Banal could lie through his teeth about the sky being purple polka dots and still be believable. 

So it came as no surprise when he entered a courtyard and found himself at the end of a dozen archers’ arrows and Florianne smirking down on him like she won a prize. 

“If you are looking for a dance partner, I’m afraid I’m a tad busy.” Banal snorted, showing his amusement with a telltale smirk. His eyes drifted over to the unopened Rift. He doubted the mundanes could see it or sense it, but they could see his Mark. Before it lit up, he tactfully hid it behind his back, magic clawing up his hand. His companions took notice, of course. 

“Yes, I see that. Pity.” Florianne rolled her eyes. “You are a difficult one to read. I wasn’t sure if you had taken my bait.” 

“Oh how could I not take such a tantalizingly obvious bait? I was just curious on how you were going to try to kill me.” He shrugged. 

“Try to kill you?” She laughed. “As though you would be leaving here alive.” 

“I have walked in the Fade, been kicked in the head by an ancient darkspawn magister with a pet dragon, and had a mountain fall on me, darling. And you think you could kill me?” His laugh was deep and dark. When he sobered, his face was the expressionless one that told you he was about to slaughter the place. “Tell what did Corypheus offer you, hmm? No wait, let me guess you get to rule Orlais as one of his mortal hands. Sounds like something a false god would promise.” 

Florianne seemed to be done with this conversation as well. “I can assure you I will be well compensated for this. All I have to do is keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike.” The Inquisitor rolled his eyes. “Never in their darkest dreams did they imagine I would assassinate Celene myself.” 

“Ah yes, treacherous cousin pretends to help to gain trust to commit regicide. You aren’t first to try that routine, shem. Though yours is the most pathetic and one doomed to fail.” 

The Duchess sneered before turning away with a dismissal as though Banal was some fly. “Kill him. Bring me his Marked hand as proof. It will make for a lovely gift to the master.” 

Banal snarled, just as the bows let loose their arrows. A thought brought the blackness out of him. It formed a barrier around him, stopping the projectiles easily. The archers’ fear was tangible as their arrows just hovered around the shifting black mass, caught in the Fade he brought through. 

“Do try a little harder next time.” The barrier dissolved as Banal reached out to the Rift. Nails dug into his arm before he yanked it open, granting some relief. Demons immediately spawned. Many of the humans ran, but the spirits caught others. “Or not. Not works for me.” 

With the influx of magic, his Fadecloak settled easily over him. An ethereal spear manifested in his hand as he sprung forward. The spear point shoved through a shade’s skull. Lightning shot from the wound, arching to the despair demon and a wisp. A rage demon froze solid from Vivienne’s spell. Crossbow bolts cracked the surface just as Bull slammed his great axe into it. 

The despair demon tried to jump away as Banal turned to it. However, it hit Dorian’s static cage. Its body convulsed as it screeched. Banal bounded into it, thrusting his spear into its frail body. It broke into small pieces as more spawned. A few dispels destroyed the points so he could close the Rift. 

Was it just him, or were the demons getting too easy? 

***** 

Banal strode back into the ballroom just as Gaspard, Briala, and Florianne were getting ready to begin the peace talks with Celene. Time to show up that little shemlen. Cullen immediately spotted him and made his way over to the group. 

“Thank the Maker you’re back. What are we to do?” They had all been warned that Florianne was up to something and seeing as the Inquisitor disappeared after following her lead, it was obvious who was the assassin. 

Banal looked across at Florianne who jumped seeing him. “Stay here. I’m going to have a little chat with the Grand Duchess.” His voice was dangerously sweet. 

“What? There’s no time. They’re going to begin the peace talks any time.” Banal ignored him, walking to the stairs. The guards were nowhere in sight, so he was easily able to descend into the area he had danced in. 

“We owe the Court one last show, Your Grace.” He called as he walked towards them. Nobles began to gasp, looking to each other. They were wondering what had possessed the Inquisitor to be so rude as to interrupt the Empress’s talks. 

“Inquisitor.” Florianne slowly turned around with a rod up her back. Good she should be frightened. 

“The eyes of every noble in the Empire are upon us, Your Grace. Remember to smile.” He slowly started to walk forward with a sinister grin. “This is your party after all. You wouldn’t want them to think you’ve lost control.” 

She began to back up. “Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?” 

Banal chose to put magic into his voice, allowing every one in the room to hear him. “I seem to recall you saying ‘All I need was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike.’” Whispers started to erupt through the room, glares all starting to hit the Duchess. “When your archers failed to kill me in the gardens, I feared you wouldn’t save me this last dance.” 

With a confident air he crossed his arms behind his back and walked around her. Keeping his smile intact of course. “It’s so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a Council emissary.” Sounds of outrage echoed through the palace. Banal nearly shivered as the anger and hate started to rise. His magic pulsed softly against his skin, gripping the emotions tightly. 

Gaspard stepped forward to glare at his sister. Banal let her feel the fire for a moment in silence before he continued. “Twas an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds…all your enemies under one roof.” 

Florianne backed up, trying to save face. “This is all very entertaining, but you do not imagine anyone believes your wild stories?” 

Celene stepped forward. “That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin.” Banal smirked evilly as the Duchess turned around in disbelief. She was beginning to see her plan fall apart. Sadly that plan fell apart the moment Banal stepped in Halamshiral. 

“Gaspard? You cannot believe this? You know I would never—“ The Duke turned away and started up the steps with the Ambassador. Florianne stepped back, starting to panic. She was being stripped bare as it were. 

“You’ve lost this fight ages ago, Your Grace. You were just the last to find out.” Banal said as guards started to come for her. She looked to him with a deadly glare. He felt her despair suddenly turn to fury (with a little coaxing from him of course. He hated seeing shemlen look so pathetic). 

Before anyone could blink, Florianne bounded forward to him. Even Banal had a hard time following as she pulled a knife. He barely managed a small mindblast as he saw the glint coming towards his neck. It was enough to blind her aim and stab him in the shoulder instead. 

He didn’t feel any pain as time stood still. Gasps begun around him, but he was focused entirely on the shemlen in front of him. She seriously thought she could kill him? Or was she just hoping to have a public execution? His eyes hardened into swords. His magic started clawing at his restraints. 

A bright light shot through Florianne’s body. Banal’s eyes held hers as blood started to trickle out her mouth. The air was tense as no one could comprehend what those few seconds held. Slowly the light dimmed inside her and she slumped to the ground, blood pooling around her. 

Banal snorted apathetically. Without much thought, he plucked the dagger from where it was stuck in his chainmail. Honestly, did humans just think he wouldn’t wear armor to a function that was guaranteed to have at least one assassination attempt on him? He dropped it and turned to the Empress who was in shock at seeing her cousin killed. 

“Now, barring anyone else trying to kill me, I think we should speak privately, Your Imperial Majesty.” His voice snapped her out of it. He turned to the stairs, only glancing behind him once at the corpse. “And someone should really clean this up. The blood will stain the marble.” 

***** 

It took several minutes for the three to follow him outside on the terrace. And when they did, they were bickering like little children. 

“Your sister attempted regicide in front of the entire Court, Gaspard.” Briala hissed. 

“You’re the spymaster. If anyone knew about this atrocity was coming, it was you.” Gaspard retorted. Banal’s headache started pulsating again. 

“You don’t deny your involvement.” The elf was smug. 

“I do deny it!” Banal winced, rubbing his temples. All his patience was evaporating at an alarming rate. Whiney shemlen were going to be the death of him. “I knew nothing of Florianne’s plan! But you… you knew it all and did nothing!” 

Briala scoffed. “I don’t know what is better: that you think I’m all knowing or that you are trying so to play innocent and failing.” 

“Enough!” Celene cut in, about as agitated as Banal. “We will not bicker while Tevinter plots against our nation! For the safety of the Empire, I _will_ have answers.” She turned to Banal who was leaning against the railing. These three were beyond idiotic. None of them knew how to run a country. 

In the Elvhenan, there would have already been five coups and three assassination attempts on all of them for their shitty leadership skills. They had strengths sure. Gaspard was a military man, Celene a woman of reform, and Briala a freedom fighter with an army of spies. But the amount of weaknesses they had were staggering and would have warranted death a long time ago. 

He growled. “Every one of you is to blame. You all let this happen, conspired to allow it to occur.” All their mouths clamped shut. Then Celene raised her chin in defiance. 

“That’s a bold claim, Inquisitor. Are you prepared to defend it?” Banal could have laughed at the audacity. Anyone with half a brain and an eye could see they were all shitty at their jobs. 

Banal smirked, “Perhaps I should direct you to look at my Commander, Majesty.” He pointed to the man as he spoke with the mercenary, the captain, and the elf he had convinced to testify for him. He was sure their faces lost some color as they turned back to him. “You, Celene, allowed Gaspard to smuggle soldiers into the palace, hoping he’d make a politically foolish move.” 

Gaspard frowned as he looked to her. “That’s duplicitous even for you, Celene.” 

“You took the bait.” Banal interrupted. “I met your mercenary captain, Duke. He says you planned to attack tonight.” He cocked a suspicious eyebrow, loving to watch these humans find out they were all in his spider web. 

“Clever move, if you were trying to get hanged for treason.” Briala laughed. Banal had to roll his eyes at her attitude, as though he was on her side merely because she had pointed ears. 

“And Briala was playing both of you. She murdered your ambassadors and sent you each forged letters.” 

“Even if I did, you can’t touch me.” She glared. 

Banal laughed loudly, startling them. “Oh my poor, dear, seth’lin! How delusional you are!” He took a moment let his laughter die down into chuckles before he met that glare with a haughty smirk. “I wonder how many people would defend you once it got out that you were sleeping with the Empress that purged your Alienage?” 

The elf winced, her glare softening. Celene, however, hardened hers. She knew when she was outplayed and the Inquisitor had trapped them all. 

“Enough, you’ve made your point. What do you want?” Celene grumbled. 

“For you three to pull your heads out of your asses,” is what Banal really wanted to say. That however lacked tact. “You are three of the most brilliant minds of the Empire. You could do so much for Orlais and your people if you stopped fighting.” Bile rose in his throat saying those words, but he knew how to get them to see reason. He had just thrown all their flaws in their faces; he had to soften the blow by stroking their pride, let them save some face. 

“It is remarkably…optimistic to think that we could ever forget our differences, Inquisitor.” Celene gave after a moment of silence. 

He scoffed. “The Elvhen had far more differences and a far longer time to let those differences stew, but they always stood united when there was a threat to them all.” The shemlen furrowed their eyebrows. “So are you telling me you are not better than elves, Celene? Gaspard?” They frowned at the jab. 

Without a word, Celene turned to go back into the ballroom, Briala and Gaspard in tow. “I cannot believe you want to make a speech. This is foolish.” The elf complained. Banal brisked passed her. 

“We have no choice. The nobility requires an answer for what happened.” Celene tried to coax her. 

Gaspard, who was ahead of them, stopped and spoke over his shoulder. “Unless you want to pretend the war was all a dream? That would go over well.” He turned around, apparently resigned to the fact that a Dalish elf had outplayed him. “No more dithering. We make the cut swift and clean. Kindest to us all.” 

The Ambassador sighed and followed along without another complaint. The dance floor was now filled with people who all applauded. Florianne’s body had been removed and cleaned. Briala leaned against a column with a scowl as Banal stood behind the two humans, looking more like a wolf stalking prey than an ally. 

“Lords and Ladies of the Court, we are pleased to announce that an accord has been reached.” Celene began. “Our cousin Gaspard will now hold a place of honor in our cabinet.” It sounded like Banal had killed the Empress with the amount of gasps and whispering that flowed through the room. 

Gaspard stepped forward, “Friends, we assembled are the leaders of the Empire. We must set an example for all of Thedas.” It seemed he was trying to smooth this over. “We cannot be at war with each other while the Fade itself challenges our borders.” 

“We must stand united, or surely we will fall alone.” 

“Melana en athim las enaste. El vhenen ena enasalin.” The humans blinked at his words but he didn’t really care. “Now let humility grant us favor,” He translated with a stern gaze at the two leaders, “and our people emerge victorious.” 

“We will heal our wounded country. A long road of reconstruction lies before us.” She paused for effect. “But tonight, we celebrate the arrival of peace.” Banal didn’t stick around much after that and just walked back onto the terrace. The night was cool against his skin, quiet compared to the loud festivities outside. 

Did everyone need him to fix every little problem? Honestly, he could think of a thousand things he would have been better off doing than remedying some shemlen squabble. Like hunting down a dragon or tearing Corypheus’s face off his skull. 

But that was the reason why he had come here, wasn’t it? He couldn’t allow the darkspawn even one victory over him. His pride was too great for him to swallow and let anything slip from his grasp. 

Banal sighed loudly as he looked up at the moon. He wondered, not for the first time, what might have happened if the Elvhenan hadn’t fallen. He missed it. Those squabbles meant something to him. They were beautiful symphonies crafted over centuries and performed for millennia. Sure they were still noble pricks throwing tantrums over something, but they weren’t pathetic things. 

A war could be started for many things: a perceived slight, or a jilted lover perhaps or a land dispute. But it wasn’t something everyone started the moment they were outplayed by a cousin. If you were smart, you would’ve planned for such an occasion and prevented it rather than assuming like Gaspard. The man could wage war, but couldn’t play politics. Celene could play politics but couldn’t play war; she didn’t want to fight for anything it seemed. Briala could do both, but made the mistake of bedding her enemy in hopes the enemy would fight for her. 

Banal shook his head and turned to look into the ballroom. He had seen and participated in a million of these events. But this one seemed hollow, like a ghost of something real to him. It was empty, smoke and mirrors. 

_Perhaps this was dream of Uthenera._ As the thought fluttered into his mind, he was struck with the feeling of not belonging. This was far from the war he knew, yet it was the same. The Game of politics hadn’t changed. People just got worse at playing it. Or rather they had less time to play it. People still feared change even when it was necessary. Now it seemed they feared everything that was unknown when once they strove to unravel it. 

“Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts in your name, and you are not present to hear them? ‘Tis most fickle of you, Inquisitor, after all you did for them.” Interrupted his thoughts. 

Lazily he looked to the Witch. “I wished to breathe without swallowing gallons of perfume and a quiet spot to rid me of my headache.” 

Morrigan smirked as she walked to him. “I did not mean to interrupt your breathing.” 

“Oh no, go ahead, everyone else does.” Banal turned to look out at the palace grounds. He felt his years suddenly, making him very tired. Uthenera might be a nice vacation after all this is said and done. Of course, that requires leaving the shemlen to their own devices. That would end the world he was sure, but it lacked a personal touch. 

He felt the Witch study him for a moment before she spoke again. “Empress Celene has assigned me liaison to the Inquisition. She wishes to give you any and all aid, including mine.” 

She sounded less than enthused about it, making Banal look at her. She was another one that was hard for his magic to get a read on. She seemed familiar though. Which was both absurd and unnerving. 

“And do you wish to join, Witch?” He asked before moving his gaze back to the land. 

“Not if you continue to call me witch. I have a name.” She grumbled making him laugh. 

“As do I, but no one seems to remember that.” He smirked at her. “Thus you will be Witch, or would rather I call you Shemlen? Or perhaps Crow? You do turn into a crow, yes? Like in the tales?” 

She sighed loudly. Working with this particular elf was going to be trying. “I can turn into a crow, yes.” Her words were from gritted teeth. And she thought Tabris and Zevran were bad. 

“Very well, Crow. Do you wish to join the Inquisition?” 

“Corypheus threatens the whole world so I am not opposed to it.” She fixed one of her bracelets before looking at him. “Nor should you be.” 

Banal narrowed his eyes slightly. What could he need another shemlen mage for? He had a whole army of them. What he needed was a brigade of Qunari to use for battering rams and intimidation. “And why is that?” 

“I have arcane knowledge that is beyond the scope of any normal mage.” She said slyly. Banal nearly laughed again. She said it like she was the only one with such a skill. Little did she know there were two ancient beings already in the Inquisition. “As does Corypheus, so it would behoove you to add to yours.” 

Banal thought for a moment. He wanted to tell her, whatever she knew, he knew better. And he doubted she could add to his knowledge base. But this seemed to be a peace offering from Celene and it was advantageous to garner as many allies as he could. Plus the woman was interesting, or would be. He wondered what she classified knowledge beyond the scope of normal mages. 

“Very well, Crow. Welcome to the Inquisition.” He finally said with a small bow. 

“A most gracious response. I will meet you in Skyhold.” And then she slipped away from him. But it seemed he wasn’t going to get a quiet moment to himself. 

“There was an ancient dowager looking for you, said she had twelve daughters. I told her you left already.” Dorian’s voice made him turn to see the man walking up to him. “You can thank me now or later…” Banal managed a smirk before dropping off to his own thoughts again. He wondered what a life he would’ve had if his People never fell. Would humans be considered the inferior race? Would elves still have immortality living side by side with mortals? “But you seem lost in thought. Is something troubling you?” 

Banal blinked and looked to him. “I just have the feeling this isn’t going to be the last time I have to pull those three apart. And I’m beginning to question my sanity.” 

Dorian chuckled, leaning against the railing. “You saved the day, literally. The day is saved.” 

“Yes, but left a powerful nation in the hands of three greedy and idiotic leaders.” Banal sighed. “Celene has no mind for war. She wishes for change, but is too frightened to fight for it. Briala can and will fight for it, but at the cost of what she’s fighting for. Gaspard has no head for politics like he does war. They are all opposed to each other, but can’t seem to function otherwise.” 

The Altus took a moment to admire how the elf had so easily grasped the situation. “And you are worried Celene will be too dependent on the Inquisition?” 

The elf snorted. “Hardly. That’s what I’m betting on. It’s always good to have a nation’s leader in your pocket, yes?” The Inquisitor would make for a brilliant Magister, that’s for sure. And he could probably find some way to make that happen too. “No, what I worry is if they will be of any use to me. All they seem to do is argue.” He gripped the bridge of his nose. “It may have been simpler just to stage my own coup and claim the throne.” 

“Oh yes, that would go over quite well with the nobility, I’m sure.” Dorian scoffed. Banal turned to smile at him. 

“I can be very persuasive, Dorian. And those without tongues can do little harm.” 

“You are starting to sound like a Magister, Inquisitor.” He warned. The last thing they needed was for everyone to claim Dorian was corrupting him. Or at least give them evidence that they could use to say he was. They were already talking as it was. 

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes. Banal was sure there were hundreds of people asking for him. Josephine was no doubt looking everywhere for him, or perhaps trying to deter people from dragging him back into the palace. If that were the case, he was quite grateful. He had enough of shemlen for the eve. 

His mind turned in circles, going over every insult he had to endure without ripping someone’s throat out. Thankfully there were more than one way to beat them into submission. Between charming and adhering to their culture, there was blackmail. A lot of blackmail. It was rather interesting to hear some of it. Scandalous letters that would make a whore turn red, half thought of plans to overthrow such and such lord were his favorites. 

The music started again, drifting along on the breeze to them. “Dorian,” He waited for the human to turn to him, “distract me.” 

The Altus blinked like he had just spoken elvish again. But he supposed the elf was caught inside his own head. He didn’t envy him. So he took a step back, “That happens to be a specialty of mine.” Then he bowed, offering his hand, “Shall we dance, Inquisitor?” 

Banal snorted. That wasn’t what he had in mind, but the terrace was far from a secluded library. So he placed his hand in the human’s. “Very well. I’ll demean myself and dance another shemlen dance with the evil Tevinter magister. Might as well give them something to talk about yes?” 

Dorian smiled as they stepped closer. “If you find me ten silk scarves, I can give them a dance that would really set their tongues wagging.” 

“Don’t tempt me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No clue if the elvish I used is correct, but I'm going to say it is until someone corrects me.
> 
> Yay! the next three chapters have me really excited! They were one of the first ones I planned when I started writing this! And since then I've been doing some reconfiguring (remember when I said I had a Plan B waaaaay back? ;) ), I'm more excited.
> 
> And I apologize for the massive mistake. I should probably learn to read my books all the way through rather than just the parts I like...Which isn't going to happen probably...


	20. Rewards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fun never ends in Skyhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sexual themes ahead (I don't classify this stuff smut but basically that's the majority of the chapter ;) )
> 
> I just needed to do something...absurd and vaguely pointless...and thus you get this chapter!

There were a million things to do once they returned to Tarasyl’an. Just because they saved the Empress didn’t mean business ceased at their base. In fact, things just kept piling up. At least five different nobles were waiting for them, and at least three more showed up after they were settled back in their individual routines. 

It seemed that saving the Empire meant the Inquisition wasn’t as blasphemous as it was before. And more people wished to cozy up to the Inquisitor. Including the Grand Clerics when before they were quite happy to brand him a heretic, and sick the Templars on him. 

“My Lord Inquisitor,” Called one such cleric as he was walking by. He had taken to watching the recruits spar in the mornings, giving some advice when it was needed. Plus it was a good way for him to stay in practice while the Inquisition took a small break to reorganize. Varric had said he knew someone who could shed some light on Corypheus, but they had yet to arrive. “Please, may I have a word with you?” 

Banal sighed loudly. He looked tired of dealing with political things as he turned to the woman. Josephine glared daggers. The Inquisitor had far more important things to do than listen to her squabbles. Plus she had already been told no. It was like the cleric thought that if she went to the Herald, she’d get a different answer. 

“You solve one crisis and three more take its place…” Banal grumbled. He really needed a massage right now. His neck was sore and his head was pounding. 

“I am sorry for having to place this burden on your shoulders. But you are the only one who can help.” She began. Both Josephine and Banal frowned. If she was truly sorry, she wouldn’t do it. Moreover did she not realize he had the entire world basically on him? “With the political turmoil put to rest, our minds turn to a single question: the next Divine.” Banal had to fight not to growl. What did he care about who led the shemlen religion? “We cannot answer it without the Left and Right Hands of Divine Justinia V.” 

“I have already told you, Revered Mother, Lady Leliana and Seeker Cassandra cannot be spared from their duties.” Josephine broke in. Honestly you would think being the Inquisitor’s ambassador meant people would listen to her. 

“But surely with the support of the Empire, the Inquisition will not be harmed by the loss of just two souls.” The priestess continued. 

Banal crossed his arms. He wouldn’t care if either of them left, but then again Leliana was his Spymaster. Who else would gather all the intrigues for him? And Cassandra was good at hitting things and fun to mess with. Plus he still had to enact revenge on the two. “If Josephine has told you no, then no is my answer, priestess.” He told her bluntly. Josephine felt a little jolt of happiness come from his words, but kept it off her face. “Besides shouldn’t we focus on what happened to the last Divine before we elect a new one?” 

“The Inquisitor has only just returned and has important business to attend to.” Josephine told her, hoping to cut this conversation before the elf could incite the Chantry’s ire…again. “You must excuse us, Revered Mother.” 

The woman wasn’t pleased, but she did bow and leave them. “Funny how one day they are trying to put your head on a pike and the next they are clamoring for your attention.” Banal muttered as he watched her walk away. 

“Don’t let them detract from your victory at Halamshiral. Now that the political situation has stabilized, we can devote more Inquisition resources to pursuing Corypheus. I hope Varric’s friend arrives soon.” She sighed. 

“Indeed, it’s troubling we haven’t heard much from him.” Banal looked up at the sky where the Breach was. Unconsciously he clenched his marked hand. Then he shook his head to look at her. “Any other things I should know?” 

“Cullen wishes to speak to you. He said he found some interesting and troubling news about the man we saw at Haven. And Leliana wishes to know what you’d like to do with…the uh Grand Duchess…” She shuddered thinking of the box they had in the dungeons. 

Banal chuckled. “Hmmm, maybe put her head on a pike? Wave it around? Though Varric suggested I should just make a sign that says ‘DON’T’ and hit people with it…So make up a horror story to frighten those who can’t be persuaded.” 

She nodded as the Inquisitor headed towards Cullen’s office. At least he didn’t ask her to make such a ghoulish display. 

***** 

“Have we any news of Corypheus?” Banal asked as soon as he entered the War Room for that morning’s meeting. His advisors looked at each other for a silent moment. 

“We do, but we aren’t sure if it’s of any value, Inquisitor.” Josephine started. 

“I’ll decide that.” Banal crossed his arms and waited. The room was tense. Only the light flickering of the candles above them could be heard. They did not know how the Inquisitor might react to them saying Corypheus was ransacking elven ruins. He didn't seem like a normal Dalish, but he did respect the Old Ways dearly. It might upset him to know his enemy was destroying them. And when Banal was upset he wasn't known for restraint. 

“It seems he has been ransacking elven ruins since Haven,” Leliana said warily. But to their relief, Banal barely flinched at the news. 

“Why?” Banal furrowed his eyebrows. What could he possibly want with old temples? They weren’t of much use without the power of whoever it was that resided there. So what was the point? 

“That is what eludes us, Inquisitor.” 

“Which should surprise no one.” Came a new voice. Banal didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Morrigan. She was perhaps the only person that would dare interrupt one of their meetings unannounced. “Fortunately I can assist.” She strode up to the oak table. Banal snorted, but otherwise showed no emotion. 

“I’ll ignore that you wandered in without knocking. You’ve my attention, Crow.” Banal’s voice betrayed nothing. But Morrigan frowned and glared at her new nickname. Leliana could have laughed at the witch of the wilds. 

“What Corypheus seeks in those ruins is as ancient as it is dangerous.” The sorceress said cryptically. 

“You should know I have precious little patience for shemlens.” Banal growled. 

“Save for Dorian.” Josephine giggled earning her a glare. 

Morrigan shook her head and continued before Banal could bark at the Antivan. “‘Tis best if I show you what I mean.” She walked backwards. 

Banal looked at his advisors as though any of them could decipher the woman’s mind and save him. When it was clear he had to go with her, he sighed loudly and began to follow. They walked through the halls to the garden. Or rather a room off the gardens. 

What was inside was something Banal had never dreamed of seeing again. An eluvian. He could feel the Beyond humming around it, against his skin. Close enough to touch but he couldn’t. He didn’t remember how or why he couldn’t just that if he did, it’d break. But he relaxed seeing the ordinary relic. It was good to know not everything of his time was wiped away. 

“This is an—“ Morrigan started. 

“Eluvian.” Banal interrupted. His accent spoke the word properly; he did not wish to hear how shemlen butchered the word. “I know what it is, Crow.” 

Morrigan looked surprised, and a bit agitated. “Yes. Perhaps I should ask you how you know it. Many Dalish I’ve known knew very little of these mirrors.” 

Banal narrowed his eyes at her. “The better question is how you know of it and why you have one.” 

The witch glared as well. The elf apparently had that Dalish pride in him after all. Elven things belong to elves and all that rubbish. “I found and restored it at great cost, that is all you need to know, Inquisitor.” Banal made a noise like he didn’t believe she didn’t do something unsavory to obtain her eluvian. 

“And you think Corypheus is looking for another eluvian?” 

“I know he does. But he has not found one…yet.” Morrigan looked at the mirror that held no reflections. “I fear of what might happen if he did.” 

Banal reluctantly nodded in agreement. The eluvians did not lead to the Beyond per say, but to an area close to it. The in-between. That limbo one sometimes lingers in while they sleep, though it was its own place. “Does this one still work?” He asked curiously. He wondered if that place had yet to collapse. It was carefully maintained in his time, through decade long rituals at places similar to Tarasyl’an. 

“It does. Would you like to see?” Morrigan made a motion as though to turn the relic on. But Banal grabbed her arm. 

“No.” 

She blinked, ripping her arm from his grip. Her gold eyes glared at him. “Any particular reason?” 

The elf looked longingly at the eluvian. He wished he could remember why he couldn’t use regular eluvians…Was his power too great? Or too dark? “It will break.” Was the only reason he gave. His voice sounded sad but he turned and left before Morrigan could question him further. 

***** 

“Hey, boss,” Bull began as he came up to the dark elf. Banal was looking about as tense as his usual self only multiplied by ten since they had come back to Skyhold. Perhaps the Tevinter wasn’t doing his job or something, but the Qunari knew one way to loosen him up. “You free tonight?” 

“Why does this sound like you are asking me on a date?” Banal looked at him warily. “If you are, I’m afraid you’ll have to go through Dorian first. I’ve learned never to agree to a threesome unless all parties agree first.” 

Bull blinked at the elf as he shuddered at the bad memories. “No, nothing like that. Just wonderin’ if you’d be up to a drinking contest.” 

Banal’s mind took a few seconds to comprehend that statement. No one had ever challenged him to a drinking contest before. Well no one in recent memory. Lotus tried once but failed miserably when they got to the good stuff, the stuff that had been aged for a few ages. Did the Qunari honestly think he could out drink Banal? 

“I’m sorry, but are you challenging the Inquisitor to see which of us ends up under the table first?” Banal laughed. The idea that anyone could beat him in anything was absurd, preposterous. Besides he had an unfair advantage. He had millennias of drinking to build up tolerance, magic to take a lot of the punch out, and just a naturally high-tolerance to begin with. 

“See some of the boys have been taking bets on which of us would get drunk quicker,” Bull shrugged. The bets had begun after they returned from their dragon fight and Bull had attempted to drink with the elf. Attempted because by four mugs of whatever was in their cups Bull could barely see straight. But Krem said the Inquisitor was still coherent and walking straight, and that was just unnatural. In Bull’s defense, he had already begun drinking prior to that. 

“And you just want to see right?” 

“After that shit with the Winter Palace, I figure we all need a little relief. You especially.” It wasn’t every day you save an entire empire from ruin, foil two assassination attempts, and be berated for an entire evening. They could all use a little celebration and Varric was harping about how ‘Smiley was becoming too much of an icon, not a person,’ or something. What’s a better way to knock him back down to humanity than getting him shit-faced? 

Banal eyed the large man curiously. It would be interesting to see if he could at least get tipsy before the Qunari passed out. He snorted loudly at the thought. “Very well, let it be known that the Inquisitor does not run from any challenge.” He flashed the Iron Bull a wry smirk. “No matter how feeble it is.” 

Bull laughed heartily at the trash talk. “You better back up those words tonight at the tavern, boss. Hate to show the Inquisitor to be a liar.” 

*****A/N: all _italics_ in this section are in elvish***** 

Apparently ‘getting the boss drunk’ was a major attraction. The tavern was fuller than usual that night. Recruits, soldiers, even some Orlesians were milling about, waiting for the Inquisitor to show up. Varric had already begun collecting bets. He had about fifteen crowns on Smiley. 

“Terribly sorry. Apparently you save one empire and all the rest want you to fix all their problems.” Came from the door to the Herald’s Rest. Banal had chuckled about the name when it was first set up. Everyone grinned at the dark elf as he sauntered in. The chainmail under his robe flashed and clanked as he walked to the table the Bull was sitting at. 

“This is one story the Chantry will never tell.” Bull chuckled. “How the Inquisitor lost a drinking contest in the middle of the war.” 

Banal snorted, elegantly sitting down in his chair. “Hardly. I think the stories will say how the Qunari disowned you for losing to an elf, Bull.” People snickered to themselves as the two continued to trade trash talk. Varric scribbled some notes down; this was literature gold. “So,” Banal sat back, lacing his fingers together in front him, “what’s piss am I to drink this time?” 

Cabot came over at that time and put two mugs down, sloshing some of the ale over the sides. “Ferelden ale to start with.” The dwarf grumbled. They had about three kegs of the stuff, so he wasn’t worried they’d run out. The Qunari had wanted some of the harder stuff, but for a drinking contest? If they wanted harder piss, they have to get it themselves. Commander’s orders. 

“Oh mabari piss, marvelous.” Banal griped. He took an experimental whiff of the liquid only to recoil with a gag. “Dorian, how do you drink this?” He looked over to the human. The Tevinter chuckled at how disgusted he looked. 

“It’s an acquired taste, Inquisitor.” The elf just snorted, glaring at his tankard. Varric nudged Dorian’s arm. 

“You want to place a bet, Sparkler? I got fifteen crowns on Smiley.” The dwarf smiled. Dorian took a sip of his own drink. He had drank with Banal before, and watched him drink at camp. As far as brandy and wine went, the elf could hold his liquor better than men twice his size. 

“Ten crowns on the Inquisitor then.” Dorian produced his coin purse and placed it near the growing pot. Varric snorted. 

“Thought you said you didn’t have any coin?” He cocked a suspicious eyebrow with a knowing grin. The human didn’t seem to notice. 

“I don’t. The pot has it all.” Dorian replied smoothly. The dwarf laughed before he decided to start this contest. Otherwise, it was just going to be an insult fest and Banal would win that one way or another. 

“Rules are simple. Drink till you drop. Got it you two?” 

“Course.” Bull shrugged, settling into his seat. 

“Yes, yes, this isn’t a new concept for me, Varric.” Banal rolled his eyes. 

“Well then, start drinking. I’ll try to keep Sera from drawing on you guys when you pass out.” Varric chuckled. The elf in question snickered loudly as she watched from the second story, her feet dangling down. 

Banal looked at the liquid for a moment. Couldn’t they have picked something a little less…like piss? He always had hated ale. “You going to just stare at that, boss? Or are we going to have a real contest?” 

The elf glared up at him as the Qunari finished his first mug. He slammed it down with a big, confident grin. “What’s the rush? Are you so eager to lose?” Banal said calmly as he began to drink. It burnt and tasted like shit but he managed to keep it down. A warmth spread through his stomach. 

“Oh come on, that’s not how you drink ale!” Bull was having a good time. Usually this sort of backtalk got you skewered and roasted. But the elf kept his own smile. Bull began to drain his second mug. Banal slowly finished his first as Elissa brought over two more. “At least pretend to give me a challenge.” 

The Inquisitor bristled a tad. He could hear some of the soldiers calling out about how elves must only be suited for wine, in far more colorful terms. He locked eyes with Qunari. His throat was good and numb, his tongue dead. 

He rose his tankard to his lips, “Do try and keep up.” And then he drained the mug in a few swigs. Many of the men cheered loudly as Banal slammed it on the table. Bull’s smile got bigger as the contest began in earnest. 

Banal quickly caught up, barely flinching or really breathing between tankards. Bull was impressed that such a small man could drink that much. He was still confident he was going to win though. Most of the men were astonished neither were getting really drunk. Especially after they had to stop bringing new tankards because there wasn’t any. 

A keg later, Bull was starting to show some signs of being drunk. He sometimes sloshed his drink as he tried to stay upright and his speech was getting slurred. Banal? He barely showed any signs of drinking. His cheeks were getting flushed, but that was all. 

“Is there even **any** alcohol in this?” The elf grumbled as he tossed his empty tankard over his shoulder. “It’s like drinking piss flavored water!” he looked to Cabot. “Isn’t there something that has a bit more bite to it? I mean, we’re the bloody Inquisition, for death’s sake! We have to have **something**.” 

Cabot sighed. “Commander’s orders said not to give you two anything lethal—“ 

“I’m not asking for lethal, I’m asking for alcohol! I’m not trying to kill a rat; I’m trying to get drunk!” Everyone was laughing at the Inquisitor. He may not be drunk, but he was intoxicated slightly. He was far more vocal at least. 

“How about this?” Elissa giggled as she walked through with two bottles of brandy in each hand. 

Banal laughed as she set them down. “I promote her!” 

“You what?” Varric asked. It was like giving him a dead horse again. 

“I promote her! I don’t know what she does, but I promote her.” Banal popped the top off a bottle and began drinking from it. Dorian was amazed his personality flipped without being entirely drunk. Banal hissed as the fluid went down, burning all the way. But that burn just added to the burning numbness that was beginning to finally reach his head. It felt nice. He couldn’t feel anything but that. 

It was about this time that Cassandra, Cullen, and Solas wandered to the tavern. They had been hearing a loud ruckus coming from it since the sun had set. Cullen knew about the contest, but surely they still weren’t going… 

“What is going on here?” Cassandra asked. The place was packed with soldiers all carrying on like they had won the war. 

“Seeker!” Varric laughed as Banal and Bull started to trade insults again. “You’re just in time! Smiley’s getting pretty drunk.” She pushed her way to the dwarf at the bar. He was monitoring the contest as well as taking a few notes for future reference. Bull was right, this was one story the Chantry would never tell. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. 

“You’re getting the Inquisitor drunk?” She asked, baffled as Cullen and Solas joined her. 

“Of course, we aren’t. Bull is.” Dorian quipped. He had stopped drinking himself. He wanted to remember tonight as this might be their only chance to see their dear Inquisitor act so foolishly. 

Solas looked over at the other elf as he finished a bottle of brandy. He had always liked to drink and was a foolish drunk. Half the time he didn’t even know he was drunk. But looking at the empty tankards and now two bottles of brandy around him, Solas knew he was about done. 

Banal felt more eyes on him than usual and lazily turned his head. “Fen!” He called, tipping his chair up on two legs. “Or Pride, or whatever you are calling yourself now.” Solas found it rather unsettling how the elf smiled when not a few weeks ago he was threatening to kill him. “Come have a drink or two or three or a bottle! Why not?” 

Everyone was baffled on how friendly he was being. “Are you drunk?” Solas asked skeptically. 

“Of course not!” The dark elf pouted at the accusation. “I’m not throwing up am I? What a stupid question. Am I drunk?” He scoffed, rocking his chair without a care. Dorian was worried he might fall and crack open his skull for a moment. 

“But you’re being nice…to Solas…” Cassandra was suddenly worried for all their sakes. It was truly the end of the world if Banal was being civil to the apostate. What’s next? He was going to go clothes shopping with Vivienne? 

Banal got his dark smirk back. The flush in his cheeks made his dark eyelashes even darker as they narrowed around his glinting eyes. He looked very similar to some demon. “As far as you know. I could have put rat poisoning in the ale or maybe I pissed magic in it.” 

“I want to see how you do that!” Sera yelled. She was already drunk herself, slurring words together. Bull was starting to see double as the Inquisitor started chugging his third bottle of brandy. Still the Qunari started drinking from his tankard again. 

“I think we should stop him before things get too out of hand.” Solas mentioned. Usually when the Shadow got drunk, magic happened. A lot of magic. Already the fires inside the tavern turning into rustic orange. No one who didn’t know Banal for what he was wouldn’t think anything of it. But Solas knew the odd icy hot prickle in the air to be Banal’s magic. 

“And what do you mean out of hand?” Cullen asked, wary of this Banal. From his experience, mages and alcohol didn’t mix well. 

“ _What’s the matter, Bull? We haven’t even gotten to the fun stuff!_ ” interrupted them. Everyone blinked at the elvish. Solas sighed. Banal couldn’t really think passed the daze let alone form coherent thoughts in the common tongue. No his mind couldn’t even remember he knew such a language. 

The Qunari, however, seemed to have lost consciousness, meaning the Inquisitor won. Banal slammed his chair back down as he leaned over the table to looked at the Bull. “ _Is he dead?_ ” He poked at the man’s face a few times. “ _He don’t seem dead…do you think he’d mind if I used his horns for a slingshot?_ ” Banal turned to grin evilly at the group. 

“He’s drunk.” Solas sighed loudly. 

“Really? What was your first clue? That he’s speaking elvish or that he’s giggling madly?” Varric snorted watching as the elf kept messing with the Qunari like a child. He seemed fascinated with his horns, flicking them, pulling at them and what have you. 

Then suddenly he shot up straight. “ _Does this mean I win? Of course I win. I’m me, I always win._ ” He giggled for a moment. 

“Translation, Chuckles?” Everyone turned to Solas. The bald elf seemed tired. 

“He’s just figuring out he won the contest.” Banal took a hold of the last bottle of brandy. Solas heard something akin to ‘watch this’ and paled. “Everyone duck.” He called out just as the Inquisitor tossed the bottle up in the air. The lid came off, pouring the alcohol in a spiral motion. But it wasn’t alcohol. It was fire, black fire that had hundreds of colors inside it. It danced and spun up the trail of alcohol before reaching the bottle. 

The bottle turned into a prism, shooting lights all around before it heated up. Everyone suddenly knew why they needed to duck. But the Inquisitor just laughed merrily. He reached inside the bottle with his magic, feeling the bonds that made it a bottle, made it glass. Glass was just sand. Just as the bottle exploded, he broke the bonds down so everyone what just covered in soft sand. 

“ _Ta-dah!_ ” The Inquisitor laughed as he threw open his arms. “ _And you all thought I was going to kill you! I wouldn’t give you a warning if I was, idiots_.” 

“And he’s doing parlor tricks. He is drunk. I suggest we lock him in his room before he makes other things explode and deconstruct.” Solas turned to Cassandra. “Or opens a Rift in the middle of Skyhold.” 

She and the Commander nodded in agreement. They didn’t want to find out what other things he could do. Apparently he was far more adept at magic than any of them knew. After all, Cullen couldn’t name one mage he knew that could make a bottle turn into sand. 

But before any of them could move to take the Inquisitor, he was speaking again. “ _Don’t I get a prize?_ ” He pouted as he looked to Solas. 

And the man called him da’len. “He wants a prize.” 

Varric snickered. This was too weird for this to be real. Banal’s eyes however focused enough for him to recognize Dorian. He got a huge grin as he stood up. Blood rushed from his head, pounding in his ears as he swayed a little on his feet. 

“ _Tell the world to stop spinning…_ ” He shook his head a few times before turning to the Altus. “ _Prize! Come here!_ ” Dorian furrowed his eyebrows as the elf opened his arms as though to beckon him forward. 

“Mind telling me what he’s yelling?” Dorian looked to Solas again. 

The elf shifted a bit. This was the other part of the Shadow he didn’t wish to ever see again. He could vaguely recall getting him drunk once and the man flirted with anything with a pulse. Including the Dread Wolf. 

“He’s claiming you as his prize, I believe, Dorian.” Solas shook his head at the dark elf who was still trying to get Dorian to come over to him. 

“Well, Sparkler, I think you just got volunteered to take the Inquisitor back up to his room.” Varric laughed. The Tevinter glared at him. Thankfully, many of the soldiers were either drunk as well, had passed out, or had already left. Otherwise, the elf’s bluntness would have been unbearably embarrassing. Not that he was ashamed or anything. But he would rather keep their private relations just that: private. “Oh and I’ll just keep your winnings since you still owe me.” 

The dwarf slapped him on the shoulder before jumping down and heading for the exit. Some of the Chargers were moving the Iron Bull, laughing. Cassandra shook her head as she and Cullen left as well. 

Just as Solas was turning to leave, Banal was suddenly right in front of Dorian. The human jumped. “Sweet Maker, if you could please warn me when you decide to be like Cole…” He stopped as the elf leaned against him. On top of his usual scent was the pungent odor of too much brandy mixed with Ferelden ale. But that’s not what threw the Altus off. 

It was the fact that the Inquisitor was nuzzling his neck. It was simultaneously the most odd and wonderful thing. “You are acting like a cat, Inquisitor.” Dorian quipped as he tried not to laugh. He was quite glad he wasn’t as drunk. 

“ _Stroke me and maybe I’ll purr._ ” came Banal’s mumble. Dorian furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Solas who promptly tried to leave. 

“No. I will not translate that.” The elf grumbled as he made for the exit. Dorian was sure his ears were turning red, as Banal started laughing. He did enjoy making people squirm. 

Dorian looked down at the hazy-eyed Inquisitor. He was giving a stupidly drunk smile. “Come, let’s get you to your room lest you make the entire Inquisition blush.” Dorian chuckled. Not trusting the elf’s coordination, he threw one of his arms over his shoulder. The elf didn’t walk all over the place, but it was apparent from how heavy he leaned on Dorian that walking was getting difficult. 

Getting him up the stairs? They nearly fell backwards five times and that wasn’t even going up to the Inquisitor’s quarters. Thankfully the hall was devoid of its usual spectators. Otherwise there might have been executions in the morning. 

All while they were hobbling up to his room, the Inquisitor kept chatting in elvish as though Dorian could understand a lick of it. He caught the word for prize a few times, but aside from his own name, he couldn’t get much else. Though from the sound of his voice, Dorian would hazard a guess he was being flirted with. 

By the time they got up the tower, Banal had started to fall silent. Dorian had to practically carry him up into his bedroom. The Inquisitor saw his bed and managed to stagger his way to it, where he proceeded to collapse on it. For a moment Dorian found this all hilarious. The elf was behaving like a small child, or a cat on catnip. 

“ _Garas_ ,” The elf smiled innocently as he reached for Dorian. Dorian had heard that word enough to guess that it meant come or follow. 

“Maker’s balls you’re drunk.” He chuckled as he sat on the bed next to the elf. 

“ _I’m not throwing up, so no._ ” Banal pouted. 

“I can’t understand you, you know that yes?” 

Banal furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, trying to think through his hazy mind. He didn’t realize he wasn’t talking in a language no one understood; he was just doing what was easy and natural. “I…am not…drunk.” He chose his words slowly before opening his eyes. 

“No?” Dorian scoffed. “You aren’t very coordinated for a sober person then.” Banal gripped his arm to pull himself up. The elf glared again, but it lacked its usual fire. 

“I’m not drunk. I’m…getting there…” The elf looked to the side. He leaned in closer to Dorian and took an audible breath. “You smell nice.” 

“Right, this isn’t awkward.” The Altus mumbled under his breath. Then he stiffened as he felt a sudden surge of power come from the elf. It was like his magic washed over him, looking for something. 

“You smell familiar actually…” Nostalgia flared behind Banal’s eyes. There was the smell of leather and something that was just strictly Dorian, but then there were hints of plants he hadn’t smelled in a long time. They grew all around Arlathan. He remembered that crystal city fondly for a moment. Take away the people and it was beautiful. Even the slums where the lowest of society gathered were beautiful, sometimes even more so than the noble areas. 

He suddenly missed it. 

Banal moved so his head was resting against Dorian’s shoulder. It was spinning and beginning to hurt him. But mostly he just wanted to remember better times and almost magically he could like this. Dorian looked at the elf oddly. 

“You know when you claimed me as your prize, this is about as far away from what I thought would happen as possible.” 

“We could do more things if you are truly of that mind. I’m not so inebriated that I cannot please you.” Banal mumbled. His eyelids were getting heavy with each breath. 

“Says the man about to fall asleep on my shoulder.” Dorian laughed. This was an unusual side to the Inquisitor, but not unpleasant. Carefully Dorian stood up. The elf’s head fell forward before he righted himself with a whine. “You should go to sleep, Inquisitor.” 

“That’s what I was doing, but you moved.” Banal still started to fumble with the bird skull clasps on his robe. He strangely wasn’t cold at the moment. Not that he was all there. He felt like he was floating again. But he managed to get his vest open. 

Dorian could have laughed at how the elf struggled with simple movements. “You are rather helpless when you start drinking.” He joked as he helped the Inquisitor unbutton the dark red silk shirt he wore underneath, revealing the volcanic aurum chainmail. 

Banal grumbled something. His hands shot out and pulled the mage down onto the bed. “Helpless am I?” With as much grace as he could possibly muster, he moved to straddle the Tevinter. Before Dorian could comprehend any of this, Banal pressed his lips against his own. It was sloppy and forcefully pushing him on his back. 

The elf slipped his tongue inside Dorian’s mouth as he pinned his arms on either side of his head. They broke soon as both their heads began swimming. “And yet I’m still on top.” Banal smirked not an inch from the Altus’s face. 

“Says who?” Dorian frowned before managing to flip them. Banal blinked before he continued to grin. For a moment he was caught just watching the firelight flicker over them. He found the mage had small flecks of brown in his silver eyes. Slowly he combed his fingers through Dorian’s hair. 

Logically his mind said he really shouldn’t try to have sex as intoxicated as he was, but that did not mean he really didn’t want to. Dorian waited so see if the Inquisitor behaved. It was odd to see him not put up much of a fight and just watch him. 

“I haven’t been bottom…” The Inquisitor flipped them back. He let his magic press against the Altus, making movement hard, “in a very long time.” He smirked as he leaned in and kissed him again. It was a very chaste kiss before he pulled back with a snicker. “I think it is best if you return to your quarters soon, Dorian.” 

The human struggled against the magic. It wasn’t a spell as far as he could tell. It was just the sheer weight of magic pressing against him. And that was somewhat frightening, but so much more interesting. Banal took it away as he slid off him. 

“And why should I?” 

“Because I am a very impulsive man. When I want something, I tend to go and get it.” Banal said slowly. It was against his personal code to take something like sex unless freely given. But he still had trouble fighting his impulses. And when he was tipsy? He might as well not have any control. “And I cannot guarantee you’d come out unscathed.” 

Dorian snorted before getting off the bed. He was curious about what the elf meant, but the man was about to fall asleep. There would be another time, not to mention a better situation. “As you wish, Inquisitor. Do sleep off your binge.” 

***** 

Banal woke to loud voices, a headache, and a sense he wasn’t where he thought he was. His eyes groggily opened. Light bombarded his senses. Pain stabbed through his skull. On top of the loud noises (or did they just seem loud to his sensitive elven ears suffering from a hangover?), Banal wanted to curl into a hole. 

He settled for curling into a tighter ball with a small whine. 

“Oh looks who’s awake.” A familiar voice chuckled. Banal looked over his shoulder at the Altus, leaning against the railing. He was smiling at the obviously hungover elf. Who apparently didn’t realize where he was. 

“I don’t want to be.” Banal’s voice cracked from sleep. Slowly he began to focus on his surroundings. Someone was talking or yelling in the Grand Hall, there was a constant cawing coming from above him, and he was freezing. He sat up, every bone in his body cracking loudly. 

He was in the library. In Dorian’s chair. The elf looked around him bewildered. He couldn’t remember coming here or why he would. He could vaguely recall the night’s events. He had won a drinking contest and Dorian escorted him back to his room. But after the Altus left, he went to sleep. In his room. 

“Why am I in the library?” Banal asked, dumbfounded. His head felt heavy. His limbs had numerous kinks that only added to his pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at his temples. 

“Haven’t the slightest idea.” Dorian shrugged as he closed his book. He pushed off and walked towards him. “Most of us were wondering the same. You should hear the rumors floating about now.” 

Banal groaned. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He might end up burning some Orlesians for dinner rather than invite them for dinner. He tried to recall any reason he had in his less than rational state, but the pulsating headache prevented it. 

Just as Banal was about to risk using his own magic, he felt something like electricity spread over him. It was warm, but tingly like his limbs were just waking up. He looked up at the Tevinter as he stood in front of him. 

Dorian was amused at the haggard state of the mighty Inquisitor. His braid was coming undone. His clothes were wrinkled and the same ones he wore the previous night. But the Altus did sympathize with him. He had had many hangovers, though he didn’t drink as much as the elf before. 

He kept his hand from touching the man as he worked the familiar spell over him. It was handy when you had to be at class in thirty minutes and had drunken yourself into a stupor the night before. Banal’s body relaxed slightly as the pain started to go away. 

He could think far more clearly. He vaguely remembered liking Dorian’s smell; it had relaxed him with old, faded memories of less stressful times. He sighed loudly. When he was tipsy, he hardly had a coherent thought. Most ideas in his skull would be inane and idiotic. It wasn’t hard for him to assume his barely conscious self had came down and sought out that calmness again. 

Banal shook his head, hoping not to dwell on his own idiocy. “I knew there was a reason why I liked you.” He snorted as he stood up. 

“Oh? And my charm, wit, and good looks weren’t considered?” 

Banal leaned in so their noses brushed. “Hmmm, those were just givens.” 

***** 

Throughout the day, people kept finding little…surprises. So far they had found a bat in Leliana’s dresser, a few buckets of frozen slush over a few doors, and at least one hibernating snake. Most blamed Sera for the pranks, but she was passed out on the tavern floor until someone moved her. They didn’t know if the animals were pranks or just animals looking for some place cozy. 

Banal made himself scarce for most of the morning and afternoon. He only showed himself when Josephine had told him he’d received a package. It was Dorian’s amulet. Leliana had managed to work a few favors to get the man accepted long enough for them to get the amulet. One does not try to use the Inquisitor without the Inquisitor using them first. 

Amulet in hand, he walked into the rotunda. Birds were cawing loudly as two loud and agitated voices echoed around. Banal recognized them as Giselle and Dorian. He cocked an eyebrow. Why was the priestess so far from her garden? Did he not designate that has a Chantry safe zone? 

Solas was frowning intensely as he studied one of the keys to the temple of pride. “How long have they been yelling?” Banal asked quietly as though to compensate for their loudness. 

“Awhile, Inquisitor. Ten minutes at the least.” Solas grumbled. 

“And no one’s threatened to cut out their tongues?” Banal snorted. “I should remedy that.” Solas shook his head as the Inquisitor started up the stairs. 

“I don’t know what you think you are doing!” Giselle hissed. Banal paused just below the top of the stairs where he could listen but not be seen. 

“I’m being clucked at by a hen evidently!” Dorian fired back. 

“Do not try and play the fool with me!” 

“If I wanted to play the fool, I could be rather more convincing I assure you.” Banal snickered at the Tevinter’s comebacks. 

“Your glib tongue gives you no credit.” Giselle huffed. He could just imagine her trying to look stern in that ridiculous outfit of hers. 

Banal heard Dorian’s smirk in his voice, “You’d be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, Your Reverence.” 

Banal took that moment to finish walking up the stairs. “Can I have a demonstration, Dorian?” The two looked over to the elf who sauntered towards them. Dorian smirked at how the elf was seemingly unafraid of the Chantry. At the same time, he worried for him. He was the Herald. 

“Oh…Inquisitor.” Giselle suddenly looked uncomfortable. Banal’s smirk got bigger as he stopped next to Dorian. 

“Care to tell me what’s going on? Half of Tarasyl’an could hear you two.” 

“It seems the Revered Mother is worried about my undue influence over you.” Dorian helpfully supplied when the Mother seemed to have lost her fire. 

“It is just concern.” She put in, “Your Worship, you must know how this looks.” 

Banal kept his apathetic look. “You might need to spell it out, my dear.” Dorian suggested. The elf was far from concerned about his image to the masses. ‘Let them view me however they wish,’ or something to that effect seemed to be his motto. 

“This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side, the rumors alone…” Giselle looked at Banal like she was pleading with him. 

“And?” Was the elf’s answer. 

“And?” 

“And what’s wrong with him being from Tevinter? I’ve yet to see him perform any blood magic and I’ve yet to be carted off with a collar.” Dorian frowned at the joke. 

“I’m fully aware not everyone from the Imperium is the same.” Giselle kept her frown off her face, but not out of her voice. 

“How kind of you to notice.” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Yet still you bow to the opinions of the masses?” 

“The opinion of the masses is based on centuries of evidence. What would you have me tell them?” She glared at the Altus. Banal rubbed his head. If they brought on another headache, he’d throw them both over the railing. 

“The truth?” 

“The truth is I do not know you and neither do they. Thus these rumors will continue.” She looked back to Banal. Banal could guess she might be trying once more to get him to throw Dorian out on his ass. 

“Well, I do know Dorian, thus I care little for your petty rumors.” Banal waved her comment away. 

“I…see.” Giselle looked disappointed, but realized the Inquisitor was going to hear nothing. “I meant no disrespect, Inquisitor, only to ask after this man’s intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I humbly ask forgiveness from you both.” She bowed and with a rather worried looked she left them. 

“Well that’s something.” Dorian quipped as he watched her. 

“Is this sort of thing normal?” Banal asked as he turned to the Altus. 

“More than anyone tells you. No one knows their own reputation.” 

“Until someone kindly tells you.” Banal sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t remember people being this…gossip mongering. Back in his time, it was just a matter of who was fucking whom, who held a grudge against whom, and who had weaknesses. Or did he just over-simplify things again? Surely there were schemes like this, starting rumors to destroy someone else…Still Banal was getting too old to deal with this shit. 

“She means well, if that’s of any concern.” Dorian defended. Then he turned fully to the Inquisitor. “It does make me wonder though. Is my influence over you undue?” Banal blinked. Did the human worry he was manipulating him? What a mad and foolish thing to think! 

The Inquisitor got a wry smile. “Who said you had any influence over me?” 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow, “Oh so I don’t influence you?” 

“You have to sleep with me at least once before you’re allowed such privilege, and even then it’s up to a coin toss.” Banal shrugged nonchalantly. The Altus chuckled to himself. 

“Good to know, I suppose.” Though he wished the man was far more discreet. But that seemed to be asking a lot for someone as brash as the Inquisitor. “You shouldn’t discount those rumor so quickly though. They can destroy just as easily as a fireball, Inquisitor.” 

“Why should I care what some shemlen make up? They don’t know you and they don’t know me, therefore they have no foothold on reality.” 

“But you are the Inquisitor, the Herald, leader of the faithful—“ 

“My titles are just that: titles. They are not me.” Banal walked over to Dorian’s usual spot and perched himself in his seat. “If they wish to paint me as a villain, I don’t care. Just as you don’t care apparently.” 

Dorian smiled. “Yours is the only good opinion I care about.” 

“Then that’s settled.” Banal shrugged again. “Catch.” He gently tossed the amulet to its owner. Dorian caught it. When he saw what it was, he sighed loudly, good mood evaporating instantly. And here he thought the Inquisitor had forgotten about it. 

“Now I’m indebted to you. I never wanted this. I told you.” 

Banal rolled his eyes. “Again, I didn’t do this so you could be indebted to me, Dorian.” 

“That’s the problem.” He interrupted. Banal didn’t say anything, letting the human blow off his steam. He really did like watching him work himself up. “Someone intelligent would cozy up to the Inquisitor if they could. It’d be foolish not to.” Dorian began to pace. “He can open doors, get you whatever you want, shower you with gifts and power. That’s what they’ll say. Already those rumors call me the magister who’s using you.” 

Banal was a bit confused that the Altus was that concerned. Did he not just say he didn’t care about other people’s opinions about him? “For a man that’s unconcerned about how people view him, you sound awfully concerned.” 

Dorian sighed as he frowned. “I don’t care what they think about me. I care what they think about _us_.” Banal blinked. He couldn’t really see a point to worrying about how people viewed their relationship. He already knew some were saying that the Tevinter was just sleeping with the Inquisitor to gain favor, but what did it matter? 

Banal stood up and walked closer to Dorian. Carefully he took the amulet from his hands. Without leaving his eyes, Banal placed the necklace over the mage’s head. It wasn’t what the elf would call a pretty piece of jewelry, but it wasn’t heinous. It was Tevinter; It was Dorian just as much as his robes. So it looked right. 

The Altus sighed again as the familiar weight settled around his neck. It did feel good to have it back, no matter the circumstances. He looked down at it as the elf’s fingers just traced the design on its face. “I…was an ass in the market.” 

Banal chuckled. “It’s another one of your specialties, right?” He took a moment before he stopped tracing the amulet absently. He looked up with a smile. “If me getting you the amulet bothers you, then just think of it as a reward for keeping me sane at the Winter Palace.” 

Dorian laughed. That could work actually, though it felt like cheating. He glanced around them for a moment, ensuring no prying eyes were watching. Not that there never weren’t, but still. A finger beneath the elf’s chin tilted his head back so Dorian could kiss him. 

Banal responded rather quickly to the kiss, pressing himself against the human and running his hands through Dorian’s hair. In his brain, he knew he should still find it odd to kiss someone with fur on their face, but Banal was beginning to find it a pleasant difference. 

Dorian broke first. “I’m going to stop before I say something syrupy, but I will repay you. Count on it.” He let go of the elf who only grinned devilishly. 

“It had better be a damn good reward for having to deal with that asp of a man.” 

Dorian returned the smile. “You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure.” 

“And when can I expect this reward?” 

“Hmm, if you don’t lock your door like a heathen tomorrow, you might be surprised.” 

***** 

Steam floated around Banal as he took his usual morning bath. His large bath filled the air with calming scents as well with much needed heat. Of course the elf was keeping the water fairly warm to fight off the mountain chill. 

He sighed contently as he relaxed. It was his quiet time, a rare moment where there wasn’t anything that needed his attention. But like everything else he knew it to be fleeting. Reluctantly he began to wash, starting first with his hair. 

The amount of soap he had to use would astonish most people, but what did they expect when he had hair almost to his knees? It took nearly fifteen minutes to wash it all and then a few more to ensure he had rinsed it completely. Only then did he stand and begin washing his body. 

He barely heard the knock on his door over the sounds of water falling off his rag. He paused, reaching out with his magic to the door. He sensed another magic present there and couldn’t help but smirk. 

“Enter if you must.” Banal called as he started again. The door opened and closed quietly after a moment’s pause. 

“Did I come at a bad time?” Dorian joked. He had planned to come fairly early, before most of Skyhold was awake. That way they stood the chance of departing from the Inquisitor’s quarters without much notice taken. Hopefully most would be in the dining hall or beginning their morning routines. But catching the Inquisitor bathing wasn’t a part of his plan. 

Banal glanced over his shoulder, no emotion on his face. “I suppose that depends on you, does it not?” The Altus didn’t mind this at all. Though a curtain of black obscured the elf’s lithe body, he could still see much. Like a blood red tattoo that covered his left shoulder. At first glance it appeared to be an intricate tribal knot, but as Dorian walked a bit closer, he found it was made of elven script. 

“Is there something you need, Dorian?” Banal asked coolly. 

“I don’t need anything, no.” The human shrugged. “However, this flirting business is all very nice and all, but I am not, however, a nice man.” 

Banal cocked an eyebrow, pausing his bathing. “Oh?” 

“Also I thought about what would be a suitable reward for a man who had everything already.” The Inquisitor’s lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. 

“And what did you decide?” 

“That we cut the flirting and move on to something a bit more primal.” Dorian took a few more steps towards the sunken part of the floor. “It will set tongues wagging of course, not that they aren’t already. But I suppose it really depends on just how bad the Inquisitor wants to be.” 

Banal shivered slightly. It took him long enough. With a wicked smirk, he turned forward again, continuing to wash his body. “Why don’t you get undressed and find out?” The elf challenged. Of course, he couldn’t let anyone best him in anything, foreplay included. 

He heard buckles jingling behind him before the water began to ripple. “You don’t allow anyone to challenge you, do you?” Dorian chuckled as his arms wrapped around the elf’s waist. The elf hummed as he turned his head slightly. 

“And go unopposed? No, I do not.” Banal chuckled as the human’s lips brushed against his. He sighed contently when their lips met. As they played with their tongues, their hands roamed each other’s bodies, admiring what clothes hid. Banal pulled away first. “Sit.” He commanded. 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow, “Aren’t you just impatient?” Still he sat down, enjoying the view of the Inquisitor from down there. The elf got a pleased smirk as he looked down at the human. He straddled Dorian’s hips, knees on the bath’s floor. 

“I am not a very patient man…” Banal purred against his lover’s neck. His teeth raked against Dorian’s skin, forcing a moan from him. Heat was beginning to pool in his belly. The elf’s hands slid low at a teasingly slow rate. The bath water seemed to heat up around them. 

Against his better judgement, Dorian rocked his hips against the Inquisitor’s. Banal growled as he found a soft spot just below the Altus’s jaw. The human bit back his own moans as the Inquisitor nipped and sucked at the flesh. 

“Come now, my pretty shemlen, it’s no fun when you don’t make noises.” Banal’s breath fanned over his neck. His chuckles vibrated against his skin, sending shivers down the human’s spine. Dorian made a quiet noise of pleasure that seemed to appease the elf. “Shemlen make very lovely noises.” 

“You are enjoying this far too much,” Dorian grumbled. 

“Well this is my reward is it not?” Banal sat back for a moment to grin at the human. “And exploring is my favorite part of these sort of things.” He paused to give a slow kiss on Dorian’s lips. Their chests touched with each heated breath. Every touch held a tiny spark against their skin. 

A knock sounded around them. They both froze, Dorian out of old habit, and Banal out of annoyance. “Inquisitor?” Josephine’s voice came from the other side of the door. Banal’s eyes met Dorian’s for a moment, thinking. The human seemed like he didn’t wish for many to know where he was, whatever the reason. Banal couldn’t care less if they knew what they were doing. 

Making up his mind, Banal stood up. “Stay.” He commanded as he exited the bath. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he made for the door. 

“You’re going to give that poor girl a heart attack.” Dorian whispered under his breath. The Inquisitor laughed. 

“That’s what she gets for interrupting.” His voice was low. He opened the door a little ways and then slipped out. Josephine’s face flushed and she took several steps back. “Yes, Josephine, what brings you here?” 

For a moment she just was frozen, gaping and floundering. Banal smirked, quite proud of himself. If a naked man was all it took to make her lose her tact, then he was wondering how easy it was to persuade her. 

“Dragon got your tongue?” He chuckled. 

She blinked like she had just woken up. “Uh, well, Inquisitor…” She looked down at her clipboard in order to get her head back. “There are a few lords here that wish to meet you, as well as several dignitaries that await your deci—“ 

“No.” Banal cut her off. She looked up at him. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“I’m taking the day off, Josephine. You deal with those people.” He smirked as she continued to be dumbfounded. 

“Your Worship, you can’t just decide to take a day off…” She stammered. 

“And why not? I’m the Inquisitor, I saved an entire Empire, I’ve been dealing with everyone else’s shit since I got back. I think I’m entitled to one day to myself.” Banal frowned. Not giving her much time to reply, he turned back towards the door. “If you could have some food sent up later, I would be thankful.” 

And then he slunk back into the bathroom. As he closed the door, he rested his forehead against the wood with a sigh. This was going to bite him in the ass wasn’t it? He could already guess the number of lords who would sneer and turn away their support. 

“Well that’s not a very happy sound.” Whispered in his ear. Suddenly his mind refocused on just why he wanted to take the day off. Banal smirked as he turned towards the voice. 

“I don’t remember telling you, you could move.” Dorian smiled as their foreheads touched. Banal’s back was pressed against the door. 

“I never was good at following directions.” 

“Well I need to fix that.” 

***** 

“You seem distracted,” Banal noted as he lazed in his bed. He popped a grape into his mouth. Josephine had apparently figured out why Banal wanted today off for she had two meals sent up that morning. Dorian frowned but the elf was far from discreet, so he couldn’t make much of a fuss. 

“Sex will do that. It’s distracting.” Dorian quipped as he sat back down on the bed. Banal cocked an eyebrow. Absently the human traced the red tattoo over Banal's right hip up to the rather nasty looking scar that cut across his stomach. The elf also had a very faint scar across his collarbone that wasn't visible until you were very close and his skin became flushed. 

“I heard a rumor.” 

The Altus sighed, “Very well you’ve rooted me out.” He looked away from the elf. “I’m just wondering where this goes, you and I.” Banal sat up a bit more. He crossed his legs and just watched the human, trying to gauge him. “We’ve had our fun. Perfectly reasonable to leave it here and get on with the business of killing archdemons and such.” 

Banal tilted his head to the side. It seemed he had to have this conversation at least once in any relationship he had. It was rather tiresome. But then again, he could understand. He doubted a man who had to hide what he was would be use to have actual relationships. More like one night stands. Or morning stands in this case. 

“Dorian.” Banal waited for the human to look at him. “I will only take what you are willing to give. If you do not wish this to go any further, then so be it.” 

A pained look came over the Altus’s face. “So it’s all on me?” 

Banal shrugged. “Should it be all on me? You may not like that outcome.” 

For a moment the only sound was the fire crackling. “I like you, more than I should, more than what is wise.” Dorian sighed. Banal could figure the human was thinking too much with his head. A common aliment. “We end it here. I walk away. I won’t be pleased, but I’d rather now than later. Later might be dangerous.” 

Banal moved closer to put his chin on the human’s shoulder. Dorian shivered a bit at the elf’s breath tickled his neck. “Why dangerous?” 

“Walking away might be harder then.” 

The elf watched the side of his face for a long moment before speaking quietly. “Dorian, is that what you want? Truly?” 

The human furrowed his eyebrow at the repeated question. “Did I not just say—“ 

“You said you would not be pleased, that tells me your logic is speaking. Logic is based on past experiences and often gets in the way of what you want.” Banal straightened, putting a finger underneath Dorian’s chin and turning him towards him. “If you truly want this to be the end, then you may go at anytime.” 

The human looked conflicted as he watched the elf. On the one hand, he knew he should leave. The elf was the Inquisitor; bad things could only happen with them being together. And he seemed like all the other men Dorian had been with: in it for fun and pleasure. Dorian knew better than to hope for more. 

On the other hand, the elf was leaving it up to him. And he was curious. The elf had told him he would hold back since this was their first time. 

“You haven’t told me what you want,” Dorian countered to buy his mind some time. Banal smiled. 

“Do not worry about me. I am as used to one night stands as I am to relationships.” His smile seemed so different from his usual. It was soft, perhaps a bit sad. Dorian had never seen it before, and somehow wanted to see it more. He wasn’t making it easy. 

“I’m asking you what you want.” Dorian tried to stay firm. 

“If neither of us is going to give an answer, we may never leave this room.” Banal snickered. Then he sobered. His rule was three nights together and then cut the ties. It was fun, but allowed for no more attraction to develop. Of course, Falon’Din had been an exception. That thought gave him a small twinge in his heart. “If it helps you make up your mind,” Banal sighed, “I wish to see where this can go. But I also want whatever you wish.” Banal had been used for sex more often than not; he was fine with it. He expected it. It was all right because he couldn’t remember why he didn’t care if he was used. And he always made sure he enjoyed it. 

The Altus blinked, not expecting that answer. “Where I’m from anything between two men is for pleasure. It’s accepted but not taken any further. You learn not to hope for more. You’d be foolish to.” 

Banal snorted. “If you hadn’t noticed, you are a long way from Tevinter, Dorian.” 

“I’m noticing.” Dorian smirked for a moment. “Care to inquisit me again?” Banal laughed. 

“That depends if you’ve learned how to listen.” 

“Funny, I was going to say I’ll be more specific in my directions this time.” 

“As though I would follow directions.” Banal whispered against his lips as he was pushed back on his back. 

***** 

A few days later, Banal watched as men trained in the courtyard below the battlement. He waited for Varric to show his friend up there. He was anxious to do something once more. They’d been in Skyhold for two weeks now. He was getting restless as they sat on their hands. He had sent out scouts to the Emerald Graves at the request of Keeper Hawen who feared his First had came upon some trouble. But he couldn’t leave Skyhold long enough to meet with them. 

“Smiley,” Varric called. Slowly the dark haired elf turned around to two people walking towards him. One was the dwarf, the other was a stranger. The other was a tall man with coal black hair, a small goatee, and pale blue eyes. “I’d like you to meet Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall.” 

“Though I don’t use that title much anymore.” The black haired man smiled sadly. He had scar across his nose, but was otherwise blemish free. 

“I do not blame you what with your city exploding.” Banal replied. 

“Smiley, play nice.” Varric warned afraid Hawke’s patience, which was worn thin as it was, would be destroyed by the Inquisitor’s harsh words. Ser Ambrose Hawke of the mighty Amells, aka the Silver Knight of Kirkwall aka the Champion of Kirkwall, was tolerant of many things. He preferred to solve things with words rather than swords, but back the man into a corner and you’d find out why he had so many titles. 

“That was nice, Varric.” Banal grumbled. “Andran’atishan, Champion. I am Inquisitor Banal Lavellan. Though most forget I have a name.” 

Ambrose chuckled. “That’s what happens when you become a figure out of legend.” He walked to the edge of the battlements to see what the Inquisitor was looking at. Varric backed away to a safe distance. He was just there to make sure the Seeker or someone else didn't suddenly recognized his friend and started a frenzy. 

“Varric has led me to believe you know about Corypheus.” Banal cut straight to the chase. Ambrose nodded solemnly. He still had his father’s staff though he left it with Fenris and Merrill, he still had the key to that darkspawn’s prison too. 

“I fought and killed him before, yes. He was sending these Carta thugs after me and my family, so I investigated. Turns out he was imprisoned by some Wardens using my father’s blood in a ritual of sorts.” 

Banal looked at him skeptically. “Ir abelas, but apparently he wasn’t as dead as you thought. His pet dragon kicked me in the head practically.” 

Ambrose frowned. Here Varric had told him, the Inquisitor was just like Fenris. Not worse. “Yes, I heard what happened at Haven. And he was dead on the ground. I wasn’t just going to leave the door to his prison open with him still alive.” Ambrose crossed his arms and turned to the smaller man. “Maybe he knew some ancient Tevinter spell or his connection to the Blight is to blame, but he was dead.” 

Banal looked back at the courtyard. If Corypheus was dead, then how could he still be walking? Granted Banal had died and was still around. But through very extraordinary circumstances. It didn’t sit well with him. Oddly he also felt a little upset. It was like the magister was purposefully copying him. 

“…I was having a Warden friend look into something unrelated for me when she warned me about corruption in their ranks.” 

Banal tuned back into their conversation. “Corruption?” 

“Think Corypheus got into their heads again?” Varric asked sadly. That was just what they needed: to have to kill the only folks who could end a Blight. 

“She didn’t say much else.” Ambrose bit his lip, worried. He hadn’t liked dragging her into this when she was busy looking after herself for once. But she had swooped in back in Kirkwall to save Anders. She had visited them a few times, came to his mother’s funeral, and was the closest thing he had for family aside from Carver and Gamlen now. 

“Did your Warden friend disappear with the rest?” 

Ambrose shook his head. “No, Tabris said if I didn’t hear from her again, she’d be hiding out in an old smuggler’s cave in Crestwood. That’s where I was planning to go before Varric contacted me.” 

Banal blinked many times. “Tabris? As in the woman who killed the Archdemon? That Tabris?” 

Both of the Marchers chuckled. “That’s the one. She’s a bit of a handful sometimes, but she takes care of her friends.” Varric told him. “I’m surprised Tiger was willing to stop her search and help you, ‘Rose.” 

Ambrose frowned at the horrid nickname. “You know I hate it when you call me that, Varric.” He sighed. “She wouldn’t say why, but I got the feeling something was up when she said the Orlesian Grey Wardens were, and I quote, ‘as crazy as that Broodmother under Amaranthine’.” He shrugged. 

“Well if the Grey Wardens are up to something they shouldn’t be and are involved with that magister, color me interested.” Banal finally said. 

“Good, well, then, I’ll meet you in Crestwood.” Ambrose bowed slightly. 

Banal nodded and then turned to leave. He hesitated at the top of the stairs however. “Champion, I’ve a query for you.” 

Hawke blinked. The elf was unlike any Dalish he’d ever met, but Varric warned him not to mention it. Apparently the man with a Dalish tattoo wasn’t Dalish. Who would’ve thought? “I can answer as best I can, Inquisitor.” 

“Varric has told me many tales about you.” He paused to let the human give the dwarf a wary look. “He said you had a young Dalish friend…” 

“Merrill, yes, why?” Ambrose put up his guards. He’d defend his friends to the death, even that blood mage. Her heart was in the right place, and she committed no crimes that he was aware of like the other blood mages he had met. 

“She was in possession of a mirror was she not? I am merely curious if she still has it.” Banal had wondered if he could not get it to work. He was fascinated by it. It had a demon attached or perhaps possessing or trapped inside it. Not to mention it had supposedly been corrupted before. He wished to see what that had done to its magics. 

Varric and Ambrose shared a confused look. “She still had it last I checked…I can write to her and ask though.” Hawke replied with a furrowed brow. 

“Please do. And be sure to mention, I might know a few tricks to make it work.” 

***** 

Banal sighed as he entered the Grand Hall again. He wasn’t looking forward to going to Crestwood to find some obscure Warden. What did Corypheus want with the Wardens anyway? Varric said they no longer had griffons so what was the point? Granted they did have that Tabris woman who took down an Archdemon and lived. But that was just marginally better than having Cassandra. 

Varric was looking gloomy near his place by the fire. Not that Banal blamed him. He did nearly get his head taken off by the Seeker that morning. 

“She’s calmed down some. I think you can take your hand off your crossbow now.” He told the dwarf as he walked up to him. 

“Explain ‘calmed down’ in terms of who or what she’s hitting right now.” Varric sighed. “I wasn’t hiding anything. I told everything that seemed important…at the time.” 

“Believe it or not, but I believe you. You wouldn’t have kept quiet otherwise.” Banal crossed his arms. His face was neutral, betraying none of his thoughts. He didn’t care if the dwarf had Corypheus in his pocket at that moment or what have you. He expected everyone to be hiding things. And Varric was hiding his friend; that was hardly a crime. 

“I just…keep hoping that all this is just some shit from the Fade and I’ll wake up.” 

Banal snorted, “If this is some dream of Uthenera, then I want a refund. I was lead to believe I could relax in the eternal dream, not have to fix everything.” 

Varric laughed dryly. But it was laced with guilt. Maybe if he had given up Hawke, the Inquisitor wouldn’t have had his life turned upside down. Maybe none of this shit would’ve happened. “I know I have to do better. I’m sorry.” 

Banal blinked like he didn’t understand. “Why do you need to apologize, Varric? Last I checked keeping a friend from harm is not a crime unless you murder someone…Then it’s a crime, but I like you. You’d just have to read me all my letters and write some for me.” He shrugged. 

“That’s cruel, Smiley.” 

“That’s why it’s called a punishment.” The dwarf gave a small smile, never expecting the Inquisitor to be the one to cheer him up. “But you are sure you murdered Corypheus, yes?” 

“He wasn’t moving, full of stab wounds. There wasn’t a lot of room for doubt. We weren’t just going to leave the door to his prison wide open without him being dead first.” 

“I would hope not.” Though that was exactly what Elgar’nan did with him. It was ironic that two very powerful beings had both overcome death itself. Banal through a dark ritual, and Corypheus through something else…But Banal had no doubt he could kill him. 

“Maker what did we let loose?” Varric muttered as he stared into the fireplace. Banal detested being the one to comfort someone else. His headache came back full force suddenly. The world spun again, but he managed to keep himself upright and without letting his pain show. 

“Forgive me, but brutally murdered is not the same as unleashed upon the world or is it in shemlen culture?” 

“In this case it might be.” Then the dwarf shook his head fiercely. “You probably have better things to do than listen to me be all gloomy. Let me know when you need something shot.” Banal smiled and bowed slightly. 

“Ma nuvenin.” Banal then disappeared through the door to Solas’s domain. He didn’t talk to the other elf; mostly they just glared death at each other in passing. The Dread Wolf turned from his mural to eye Banal suspiciously. Anyone observing this would think they were two animals circling each other. 

Banal’s dizziness came back, something stabbing just behind his eyes. The world hazed in front of him as he headed for the stairs. His knees felt weak, quivering and refusing to walk a straight line. He must have made a pained noise because Solas looked over his shoulder at the dark elf curiously. 

Banal felt as though he was losing his body, his mind being pulled at from the Fade so forcibly black started to dot his vision. His fingers gripped the archway as he nearly staggered into it. 

“Inquisitor?” Solas called as he put down his paints. The Anchor began to flare brightly. The Fade seemed to be manifesting around the dark elf. He took hesitant steps towards him, knowing the Forgotten One despised help. 

Banal blinked many times, his head feeling light. He had felt this before. Whenever someone forcibly entered…But that was impossible… But that didn’t seem to stop his mind from fading. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull and he crumbled. 

“Inquisitor!” Solas ran forward, his voice echoing up through the tower. He didn’t know what was happening, only that Banal was unconscious again. A part of him prayed this was the end of whatever dark magic kept his being in this world. But the other part worried for that same outcome. He was the only one able to end this madness. The Dread Wolf could deal with him afterwards. 

Carefully he studied the dark elf, making sure he didn’t crack open his skull. When he was sure he’d only suffer a bump on the head, Solas looked at the mark that was crawling up his arm. Black swirled inside it before the green destroyed it. 

Dorian, who had been waiting for the Inquisitor to show for his reading lessons, froze upon hearing Solas’s shout. Leliana trotted down her stairs and they shared a look before they both rushed to the railing. For a moment, the Altus thought the apostate had killed Banal, but the dangerous flashing of the Anchor showed he was still alive. 

Leliana’s heart froze. Was this an assassination attempt? Was he poisoned? Or was this merely a side-effect of the Anchor? Dorian had warned that if Banal was a Dreamer (or sominari as Dorian called him), he might be dragged under by a demon easily. Solas said that wouldn’t be a problem for him; it was just a matter of him not getting into their heads. 

In a fraction of a second, they just stared as Solas looked over the Inquisitor. Then they snapped out of it and ran for the stairs. Dorian was panicked but tried not to show it as he reached the elves. Banal’s eyelids were fluttering in some sort of perceived distress. 

“What happened?” Leliana asked as she knelt down on the right side. She was sure not to touch the Inquisitor, or get in the way of the two mages. Dorian only felt some ease return to him when he felt his pulse was calm rather than frantic. 

“He merely collapsed.” Solas stated as he tried to scan the Anchor. He could not sense it was destroying him; it was very stable still. But he sensed something was pulling at it, using it as a beacon of sorts. Perhaps a spirit was trying to take control of him or talk to him. 

Either way it was ominous if the Forgotten One could not protect himself from such an attack. 

***** 

_Images fluttered in front his eyes. Just images of an old fortress in the mountains. Templars. Red lyrium. People drinking it or injecting it. Red crystals slowly forming on the warriors’ skins. Corpses being mined for the red stuff._

 _He could hear soft whispers, a low hum of the Fade underneath that. He struggled against the pull that was dragging him through these images. That just made it hurt more. Then there were images he couldn’t comprehend because they were impossible. He saw his Temple. Sand covered much of the outside, but the large ominous stone doors were open like the mountain had a gaping maw._

 _

Then he saw stills of Red Templars fighting…His people? There were countless bodies around, blood soaking into the sand. The sprays of blood were suspended as he seemed to walk through the area. He saw a familiar blond stabbing a dagger into the eye of a Behemoth. Banal shot forward, deeper into the Temple. 

Lightning was frozen all around as a woman with silver lavender hair swung her spirit sword. A white haired man was at her back, fending off a guard. Blood was spiraling around a mage with pure blue eyes; a gloved man by her side exuded a healing aura. 

In another part of the Temple, a mess of fiery curls were suspended in air. A silverite sword was about to pierce into a Knight-Captain’s skull. A man with a bear necklace held a shield up against arrows. 

Banal began to panic. No this wasn’t possible.

_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be back sometime...*cackles evilly as she walks away* 
> 
> Oh and if you'd like to see pretty little Vhena drawn by prizquilla just [clicky on over to tumblr!](http://aeantizlkamenwati.tumblr.com/post/124687720801/behold-my-pretty-baby-vhena-drawn-by-the-lovely) I've commissioned a few other artists (and looking for more because they draw beautiful things and I will totally pay money for them to live and do what they love. Some of us need to be happy right?) to draw my babies. The one of Banal will take awhile because I'm like tenth on the list, so you'll probably see An'nas's first.
> 
> Thanks for reading and being patient.
> 
> About Hawke, if you've questions I'll answer. Basically Ser Ambrose is a mage, but he trained as a warrior (that's a really long story filled with headcanons and anti-canon details). Bethany died in the Deep Roads and Carver became a Templar. He is pro-mage, diplomatic, and Fenris's.


	21. Vir Banal'ras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would someone stand to gain by attacking a far flung elven ruin in the desert?
> 
> Answer: The Inquisitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the crappiness located in parts of this chapter. It's really long (Around 40 pages maybe more...I lost count) and my brain was starting to explode from everything.
> 
> Just as a side note, if you didn't know but Vir Banal'ras is the Path of Shadows, and you should really go look it up *wicked author smirk* cause it's an actual thing. And no you aren't going to know all the people in this chapter...some, but not all.
> 
> And thank you to the people who leave kudos and comments. I've been having a really craptastic time and sometimes I just don't want to go on with anything. So I just go back and read the comments and suddenly I don't feel that bad anymore. So thank you for reminding me why I should continue. :D And thanks to all those now following me on tumblr!
> 
>  **Author's Note** : _Italics_ throughout this chapter are in elvish.

Banal’s eyes shot open, his lungs trying to gulp in air. For a moment, all he saw was black, but then he saw faces. His body was shaking, but heavy. He couldn’t move his limbs as he struggled to come back into this world. His Anchor kept pulling at his mind, at him. 

“Inquisitor?” Solas asked as the dark elf pushed himself up. Dorian grabbed ahold of his shoulders to help steady him. Banal looked around him for a moment, hand gripping Dorian’s wrist like he was afraid this wasn’t real. 

“Are you alright, Inquisitor?” Leliana asked quietly as the elf shook. 

What he saw had to have been a lie, some deception of a demon. They all should’ve passed into Uthenera by now. There was no way for them to be walking about. More importantly, how would Corypheus’s forces know where to find his Temple? It was hidden deep in the desert surrounded by Sulphur pits. 

But whenever he blinked, he caught more flashes. Some were of an unsettling grin he had seen before. 

“War meeting…now.” Banal slowly growled. His heart was beating erratically as he felt more attacks coming. They were destroying something that held a great deal of his power still; it was a part of him just as the Anchor was. Having those corrupted beings walk inside it was like branding his veins. Even though he himself was corrupted and dark, their particular brand of darkness did not settle well. 

Leliana blinked. “You wish to conduct a meeting now? You can hardly stand.” 

“Go…get Cullen…Spy.” Banal spoke through clenched teeth. The Anchor felt like something was gripping it and pulling. It pulsed out of sync with itself like a strangled heart. He gripped Dorian’s arm again as he started to stand up. Leliana watched him a moment before deciding it was best to do as he said. 

Banal’s legs were jelly, as wobbly as a newborn halla’s. Stars danced in front of his eyes as blood rushed out of his head. But he was able to lean on the Altus when his knees buckled. “Inquisitor, I really think you should rest.” Dorian grumbled. 

“I have rested enough.” 

“What is going on, Banal?” Solas interrupted. The Inquisitor’s face was pale with a sheen of sweat beginning to form. He looked like Death itself. 

“ _Red Templars…found…attacking my Temple._ ” As his eyes met Solas’s, the Dread Wolf saw a mixture of anger and fear. He knew the dark elf was connected to his Temple, Elgar’nan made that so. He just didn’t know how much of that spell was still active. Yet, looking at the Inquisitor, he supposed the spell was just as strong as it was five thousand years ago. 

“ _How? And more importantly why? What do they stand to gain?_ ” Solas asked skeptically. It was a place inhospitable and hard to navigate an army through. Why go to that much trouble? What did Banal hoard that Corypheus wanted that badly? 

“I don’t know.” Banal whined as another flash of images were forced into his mind. It was like his skull being ripped open and having shards of glass shoved inside. Each shard had its own image. Or parts of the image that slowly came together. The man from Val Royaeux. His twisted smile and sickly color. His eyes flashed red, an image of a demon settling over him as it disappeared inside. 

Banal ground his teeth together, forcing himself to stand. “I suggest you pack.” He growled. He let go of Dorian, despite his world being highly unstable. The human’s hands hovered as the elf began to head for the door. A good thing too, Banal took two steps and the Anchor flared brightly. 

The world left him again for a moment. His knees buckled just as Dorian caught him. “I think you should go to bed…” The human grumbled as the elf tried to right himself. 

“Here.” Solas stepped forward. He grabbed the elf’s marked hand. It was the Dread Wolf’s magic after all, he had some control over it. He reached out with his magic, connecting to the Anchor. Banal hissed and tried to pull his arm away as lightning practically shot up his veins. 

A little searching and Solas found the place that connected the Anchor to the Fade. And where someone had ‘tapped’ into that connection. A little focused magic cut the tie and he withdrew. He let Banal’s hand drop limply to his side, the Anchor dimming. The dark elf was glaring, but in an I-don’t-want-to-say-thank-you-to-you-bastard kind of way. 

Solas knew better than to expect anything, so instead he looked at Dorian. “We won’t be able to deter him, so we might as well help him.” 

Dorian blinked, but sighed in defeat. “Very well, I’ll go inform the others.” Banal was standing on his own now. Though he was still worried, he could tell the Inquisitor was dead set on going somewhere. Solas seemed to understand the situation better than he did, so he might as well go and make sure the Inquisitor didn’t get himself killed. 

Banal began to head for the door, Dorian trotting up the stairs to inform Vivienne. His hand paused near the handle. There was a prickle of light again. He might hate the Dread Wolf, but he was the only one here that was able to understand. 

“ _I think Corypheus is after my eluvian._ ” He spoke over his shoulder. 

Solas jumped from the sheer shock of the Forgotten One speaking to him willingly. “ _What would he want with it? If it still functions._ ” 

Banal turned to him, swallowing as much of his pride and hate as he could. It was rather like he was choking on it. “ _A place between the Fade and the waking world. He would only need enough magic to punch a hole through that thin Veil._ ” 

“ _And enter the Fade in the flesh._ ” Solas finished. What did he allow to happen? “ _If that’s the case, then it is best if we stop him quickly. I shudder to think of what else he might find in your Temple._ ” Solas cocked an accusatory eyebrow. 

Banal snorted. “ _It would be rather hard to get much out of it, what with all the traps, tests, and poisonous air, don’t you think?_ ” 

“ _I don’t want to give them time to test that._ ” 

****** 

Everyone jumped as the door to the rotunda slammed against its hinges. Every eye in the Grand Hall looked at a very sickly, and very pissed Inquisitor as he stalked out. Varric could only assume that he and Chuckles had another bout, but the other elf followed him out, though much calmer. 

“The Inquisitor wishes to leave soon.” Solas told him “It will be a long trip, and in the desert again, so pack accordingly.” The dwarf blinked. He felt like he was missing something, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. 

“He give a reason why?” Varric asked as Smiley nearly took the door to Josephine’s office off. 

“Corypheus.” That was reason enough for the dwarf to nod solemnly and hurry off to his room. Hawke would just have to wait a bit more in Crestwood. Anything dealing with Corypheus directly would have to be the Inquisition’s primary focus. Solas then began to trek outside to alert the others. Banal wasn’t known for his patience, and this was the one time Solas could understand. 

Banal’s head was still light as he entered Josephine’s office. But he fought the dizziness as best he could as he headed for the war room without so much as looking at his Ambassador. The Antivan looked at Morrigan who was discussing some diplomatic issues Celene needed addressed. Neither of them really knew what was going on inside Banal’s head, but followed him nonetheless. 

Cullen and Leliana joined them shortly. Banal was glaring at the map. He didn’t really need to find the spot his Temple sat. Once upon a time, what the shemlen called the Nahashin Marshes spanned nearly the entirety of the Western Approach. That was all that was left of his marsh. But he didn’t have time to remember that particular injustice. 

He picked up one of the daggers Cullen used to mark major battles. He slammed it in a small spot near the Sulfur Lakes. It was devoid of any marker to indicate what was there as none could get passed the sulfur fields. Banal knew the mountains sprouted off near there, creating a small valley bowl. 

His advisors looked skeptically at each other before speaking. “What is there, Inquisitor? Besides certain death?” Cullen grumbled. The elf didn’t think they were going to sacrifice their soldiers did he? 

“An Elven temple, lost to the sands of time.” He didn’t look up from the map. 

Morrigan scoffed, “I have heard of no temples that deep into the desert. What would the elves be doing out there to begin with?” Banal turned his blazing eyes to her. He matched her pride as they just glared at each other for a moment. 

“The world was not always as it is now, Crow.” He growled before turning back to the other three. “There’s an eluvian in that temple, two in fact. Corypheus must not get them, even if I have to destroy them myself.” It pained him to think of destroying either of those mirrors, but he couldn’t let them fall into that darkspawn’s hands. 

“Hold a moment, Inquisitor.” Morrigan interrupted. She looked disgusted at the thought the elf would destroy his own history to win. “Surely you cannot think to destroy something that could—“ 

“We are leaving, Crow. If you wish to come, gather what you need. I wait for no one.” Banal hissed as he turned and headed for the door again. 

“Inquisitor!” Leliana called out, stopping him. “You cannot think to assault the Temple without the soldiers.” 

“It will take us a day to be ready to move, surely we can—“ Cullen started, rubbing the back of his neck. His headaches were getting worse and the elf wasn’t helping. 

“No. We leave today. I don’t need nor want the Inquisition forces. It’ll be easier this way, trust me.” Banal cut the air with his hand, ending all conversations. He shuddered to think about bringing a shemlen army to his Temple. Plus he could not guarantee his followers would not attack them out of fear. 

And he just knew there were somethings the Inquisition was better not knowing about their Inquisitor. 

***** 

Word, thankfully, spread fast through the Inquisition and by the time Banal had packed his things, his and his companion’s mounts were saddled and ready to go. A small band of Inquisition soldiers were accompany them as well as a few wagons to hold supplies ‘till they got to the point where the desert sands would allow no wagon passed. 

That said, he could have strangled all of them. The wagons just slowed them down more. And Banal wasn’t in the mood to be slow. As such, he continued well on into the night, hoping to get off the mountain into Orlais within a day or so. Even when the soldiers voiced that they couldn’t see, he kept going. 

He forgot humans didn’t have elvhen eyes, which Solas was quick to remind him. “ _Inquisitor, perhaps we should rest for the night. Before our human companions fall off the mountain._ ” Solas could see the Forgotten One stiffen and roll his shoulders. 

“ _They have torches._ ” He growled in return as the Dread Wolf coaxed his Hart closer to the undead horse. The animals, thanks to Dennet’s training, were now comfortable around the creature. So long as Banal kept his temper and magic in check, they wouldn’t have to worry about skittish mounts throwing them. 

“ _They can only see so much with them. What if bandits attack? The rest would be caught completely off-guard._ ” 

“ _I’ll kill them._ ” Banal hissed. 

Solas could have throttled the man at this point. How Varric managed to talk him out of things was beyond him. Still, in a way he could sympathize with the man’s sense of urgency. The Anchor still flashed occasionally, sometimes just a little crack, other times it lit up the sides of the mountain pass they were travelling in. He could only imagine what was going through the Forgotten One’s head. 

After all, neither of them was sure if Elgar’nan lifted that binding after he supposedly killed Banal. If he had, well, then there wasn’t much to worry about. If he hadn’t…Then the Inquisition was in trouble. Not that Solas believed the Red Templars could utterly destroy that place. But it still must be very uncomfortable, if not downright painful, to feel them and their corruption walking around inside. 

So he took a large calming breath, hoping to keep his sanity. “ _That would just spook our mounts, who can’t see much either mind you, and potentially sends us all over the side._ ” 

Banal pulled his horse to a stop to turn in the saddle and glare at the other elf. His eyes made some of the soldiers jump. They were feral as they seemingly glowed in the dim light of torches. Solas’s, though less feral, were just as frightening as the two glared at each other. 

“ _You aren’t going to shut up until I make camp, are you?_ ” Banal suddenly regretted taking any of them with him. The Dread Wolf most of all. 

“ _Precisely._ ” Solas held his ground, to the astonishment of all. “ _Not all of us have an undead mount and even you need to rest._ ” 

“ _I did not ask any of you to come along; if you wish to rest, you can feel free to do so._ ” Banal growled. His mark lit up painfully. His breath became shaky as his arm locked up. He wasn’t going to be able to use his hand for a while after this. 

“ _I also need to check the Anchor, unless you are fine with paralyzing your entire arm,_ ” Solas countered tactfully. 

“ _I hate you, Dread Wolf_ ” Banal held his shoulder for a few more breaths as the light died away. “Set camp.” Everyone sighed with relief, though you could hear the Inquisitor mumbling under his breath. 

***** 

That conversation became nearly routine for them. Sometimes Varric would have to step in, other times Dorian would literally have to pull Banal’s horse to a stop before the Inquisitor fell off. 

And even when they did set up camp, the Inquisitor didn’t sleep. He barely ate. Cole said he was worried or frightened by his dreams. He didn’t want to dream, but it was hard to fight them. 

That was around the time they noticed their collection of magebane, which came in handy when fighting Venatori, was dwindling. Rapidly. Then they noticed the Inquisitor being more and more out of it as they began heading for the Western Approach. Swaying in his saddle, not paying attention to anything at all, sometimes his mount having to be led for him… 

Though none of them could be certain, they slowly put two and two together. And that didn’t make them feel any better about this all. 

Not only would the Inquisitor refuse to give any information and even those who thought they were close (as close as you could get with the elf) were shoved far away from him, but he’d rather swallow magebane in mass quantities than let anyone help. 

It didn’t damage his magic. It just gave him a solid, grounded state of mind. It was hazy sure, but he wasn’t constantly floating between two worlds. It wouldn’t last long of course. He had far too much mana and too strong of a connection to the Fade for it to work for long. But it offered him a short reprieve of flashes and whisperings in the back of his head. 

But left him with terrible dreams. 

He couldn’t understand any of them. Some were more images of what was happening in the Temple. Dead bodies of people, each one had a name attached, memories. He knew them all from the lowest servants to the highest guards. He had never felt regret for any of his actions more than he felt regret for this. They were **dying for him** , because of him. 

He had no idea why they were still alive. He asked Solas once when he was lucid enough. The Dread Wolf took several minutes to think of an answer. He theorized that because the Forgotten One was awake, alive, that those inside his Temple, his seat of power, could be able to survive all these years just as Banal had. His other theory wouldn’t work mainly because it’d require Falon’Din being stupid enough to…No the Creator had been prideful, but not stupid. And how would he know Banal in the first place? Elgar’nan ensured he was dead and that none could ever find his Temple again. 

Still, Banal struggled to cope with the terrible dreams of the magebane; often he chose to forego sleep. Again. 

***** 

“He hurts.” Cole said bluntly as he drew in the dirt. “There’s something pulling, pushing, trying to get inside and tangle it all back up.” He furrowed his eyebrows. The Inquisitor’s snakes were seething. They slithered and coiled tightly, biting each other and bleeding. They all tried to be seen by Banal and whatever was pulling. But they just jumbled up into a collective ball of wrong. It hurt the spirit to be near him like that. 

The poison made it quieter, slower so that both could see what was trying to come through. The pulling would get cut off and let the snakes settle. Solas helped some too, detaching the leech, but the Inquisitor didn’t like him. 

Then there was everyone else. They were worried, wondering, what was wrong? Why was he distancing himself? Dorian wasn’t sure where the boundary was with their relationship yet; Varric didn’t know if he could help as he didn’t know what the hell was going on. Cassandra worried that this was some adverse side effect of the Anchor. Vivienne kept her distance, afraid it was a demon’s work. The others were a combination of those. Morrigan would try to pull information out of him, curious about this place he was leading them to. But all she got were cold glares and the occasional elven riddle. 

“Well thanks for the update, kid.” Bull snorted as he ate. “Any insight on what it is?” He couldn’t get a read on the elf. Of course, he only saw his back most days. And that back was very rigid and tense. 

Cole tilted his head to the side, “The Anchor makes it easier to find him, easier to watch. It…wants him, wants him torn and tangled, bloody and broken…” He felt a small hurt arise in Cassandra. “He won’t let it, Cassandra. He’s strong, stronger than it and he doesn’t like it in his head just as much as you don’t.” 

“Indeed, Seeker, I would worry more about him not being coherent or causing permanent damage after all this.” Solas spoke up. It was a very big possibility that Banal could damage his magic, though he doubted it would hinder him much. His magic often ate at him and he showed no outward signs after all. 

Some of them looked to where Banal was sitting on guard. It was far from a fire, far from anyone. He just sat watching the desert that was in the distance like he could see into its depths to their destination. His braid trailed behind him in the sand like a black snake. He became like a statue, a very creepy statue… 

“Dorian, why don’t you go talk to him?” Varric suggested after a moment. He didn’t like the idea of Smiley doing introspecting so much that it drove him crazy. Ambrose had that nasty habit of internalizing everything too. 

The Altus cocked an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I can? Solas seems to be the one he talks to.” It was stupid to feel jealous over the two elves being ‘elfy’ together, but the Inquisitor was being especially cruel. 

“Well you two are together, right?” Varric gestured with his hands. He had voiced his concerns to the elf before, to which Banal snorted and told him not to worry about his affairs. “So obviously he likes you the most.” And thus stood a better chance of not being maimed. 

“Are you suggesting the Inquisitor plays favorites?” Dorian scoffed. 

“Have you seen his bed, Sparkler? It’s like sleeping on a cloud compared to everyone else’s. And he let you share it.” The dwarf chuckled. Dorian did have to admit, Banal’s bed was rather lavish. It was elegant in an austere sort of way though far from his bed back home, but it was by far the most comfortable thing he slept in for a long while… “He plays favorites.” 

Dorian still frowned. “You are the one that can talk him out of anything, why don’t you go?” 

“I can talk him out or into things, Sparkler. This isn’t a matter of getting him to see the light. It’s getting him to crack open.” Varric rose his hands in surrender. “That’s your job. Obviously.” 

“His and Cole’s.” Blackwall noted. Dorian turned to glare at the Warden. 

“I…don’t know how to help.” Cole admitted, still fidgeting with his gloves. 

“I don’t recommend you trying, Cole.” Solas said quietly. “There is already one entity trying to get in his head, I do not think another would help him much.” 

“So, you’re our only hope, Sparkler. Unless you like having the Inquisitor glassy-eyed.” Dorian sighed loudly. He could and should try of course. It was rather like watching the elf go down in a cataclysmic spiral when he could have just grabbed the elf from the ledge. 

“If he kills me, Varric, I want my headstone to say ‘he plays favorites huh?’ Deal?” Dorian grumbled just to mask his thoughts. 

“Deal.” 

***** 

Dorian waited until most everyone was away in their tents, if only to give them some privacy, before he dared to approach the stoic elf. He hadn’t moved an inch. His back was still straight, legs crossed, hands on his knees. Just staring at the desert expanse. 

“It must be awfully dull just staring at the sand.” Dorian quipped to alert the man to his presence. Banal’s ears twitched slightly, but otherwise he was motionless. 

“I wouldn’t have to stare if you all did not need rest.” Banal growled, knuckles going white for a second. Dorian frowned as he sat down next to him. 

“Yes, well, not all of us are able to survive through sheer will alone. And if the shadows under your eyes are to be believed, you can’t either.” He finally got the elf to turn his head towards him. Even if it was only to glare at him, it was better than talking to his profile, no matter how handsome his profile was. “Here, you need to eat.” Dorian offered the bowl he had brought. 

Banal’s eyes flickered down, but then he returned to looking forward. “I do not need it.” 

“Vishante kaffas.” Dorian grumbled. Stubbornness must have been bred into him or something. “Last I checked magebane was not a proper diet.” It came out more sharply than Dorian had intended as well as a bit accusatory. 

Banal turned to look at the Altus. The human could only see a vague monochromic image of the Inquisitor from the large moon hovering over the desert. But the Inquisitor could see far more, eyes dilated where you could barely see his iris. Worry was in Dorian’s eyes, and a bit of anger. It was still strange to see such emotions linger behind people’s faces. He had seen anger sure, but not worry. Most knew better than to worry about him. He was the Shadow after all. 

His mind froze. He recalled someone laughing as they said that. _Nothing could harm a shadow…_ Banal couldn’t recall who, or even if it had been directed at him. Quietly he shook his head. 

“You are worried, Dorian.” He stated simply. “You shouldn’t be. I am fine.” 

Dorian snorted. “Says the man who nearly fell out of the saddle three times today.” They narrowed their eyes at each other, two brands of stubborn facing off. 

“I was tired.” Banal growled. 

“Perhaps you wouldn’t be if you slept.” Dorian fired back. Banal made a pained face for a moment, softening Dorian’s glare. 

Silence spread between them for a moment before Banal finally spoke up. “I…can’t.” 

“You can’t or you won’t?” 

“Can—won’t. I close my eyes and I just see whatever that’s trying to get inside wants me to see. Old friends dead or dying, bodies falling upon more bodies for no greater reason than someone wants me really badly.” Banal clenched his marked hand, feeling the magic building inside his arm. The Anchor began to flicker, shooting little spikes through his bones. 

Dorian sat the bowl down without a word. He wasn’t good at this nursemaid thing. That was Cole and Varric’s expertise. He didn’t know what to do exactly, particularly because he really couldn’t do anything for the elf. So he settled on what he wanted to do. 

He placed his hand overtop the elf’s glowing one. Banal looked at it oddly. He recalled someone else doing that to him. Calloused hands that knew days of training with an axe. But that image was fleeting as Dorian’s thumb rubbed circles over his skin. Banal tilted his head to the side as he relaxed his muscles with some effort. 

“I can offer very little to help you,” Dorian whispered almost in defeat. “But I will help however I can.” 

Banal studied the shemlen for a moment. He was just staring at their hands with a forlorn expression. As though he thought Banal would push him away or disappear or something. It kind of reminded him of a kicked puppy. 

“I see you were not exaggerating when you told me Tevinters care deeply about everything.” Banal chuckled. Dorian looked up, guarding his features as if he was awaiting an attack. “It is not a bad trait, Dorian. Few have that much passion in them, even fewer let it show.” He gave a tired smirk. “Especially towards…how do you say…prickly Inquisitors.” 

“Oh so you realize that you are being an ass?” Dorian threw back. 

“Of course, being an ass is my defense.” The elf looked back at their hands, interlocking their fingers. “Keep everyone at arm’s length and nothing could ever hurt you.” His voice was quiet as though he was reciting a prayer he learned long ago. 

“I see I’m not the only one that needs to break a few habits.” 

Banal snorted. “Apparently so.” He took a moment to think. He was not good with relationships by any means. What he did know was what he learned from Falon’Din. And part of that was to never neglect. “I have…been unfair to you, Dorian. And for that I apologize.” 

Dorian’s ears must have deceived him. The Inquisitor apologized? “Unfair? How have you been unfair exactly?” He laughed though the elf remained dead serious. “You are the Inquisitor; you have duties that supersede my personally selfish wishes. I understand that.” 

“Even a king who rules over an entire world at war will make time for those closest to him. It may not always be a long and uninterrupted time, but it is time.” Banal looked back at their hands. “I will try to do the same…” 

“Do not fret about it, Inquisitor. I will be happier to have all this taken care sooner rather than later. Later might mean more of my idiot countrymen thinking this is a good idea.” 

Banal chuckled drily. “I’ll be sure to remind them all not to fuck with an elf.” 

Dorian winced thinking of how that would go in his country. Elves were lesser, slaves by blood it seemed. None had really risen above that, at least as far as he knew. Yet here was an elf that could easily manipulate an entire Court. Somehow, Dorian did not doubt he could do the same with any court. Which was both unnerving and admirable. 

“I’m sure they’ll listen.” To stop this conversation before it got any more bittersweet, he turned the elf’s head towards him. “And I look forward to watching you.” He pressed his lips to the Inquisitor’s. He felt the elf’s smirk, the vibrations of his laugh. It was good to know he wasn’t in pain, or deep in thought. At that moment he was just enjoying exploring. 

He slowly opened his eyes as they pulled apart. Dorian nearly laughed at the elf who was wrinkling his nose at something unpleasant. “Something wrong?” 

“You’re beginning to smell like a shemlen.” Banal frowned like a child. 

“Well to be fair, you don’t exactly smell like roses either.” Dorian laughed. 

“Nonsense, elves don’t—“ Banal was cut off by the Altus’s mouth kissing his. The human was going to play dirty it seemed. 

“Enough of your ‘elves are so much better’; I am aware of your race’s finer qualities.” Dorian laughed. 

Banal cocked an eyebrow, still with his frown. “Oh? And you know them all?” 

“Not per say, but I’m learning.” Dorian chuckled before sobering. “You should eat though. Even elves need food as I’ve learned.” He pointed to the bowl. Banal sighed loudly. 

“Do I get anything from obeying your ridiculous requests?” 

“Aside from not dying?” Dorian quipped. The man’s stubbornness knew no bounds. And it would most likely be the death of him. 

“Death might be a welcome vacation from this world.” Banal snorted. “Death is at least sane.” Dorian winced. He seemed…resigned to that idea. Like it was either him save the world or death. His way or death. “I’ll be needing my hand back if you insist upon me eating.” Banal broke his thoughts with a little tug. 

Dorian quietly let go to let the elf begin to eat the now cold stew. After a few bites, Banal began to wonder something. “Does it not bother you?” 

The Altus tilted his head. The elf turned his hand so the Anchor was showing. It was strange but for the first time, Dorian noticed that the green glow nearly matched the Inquisitor’s eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid.” 

“The Anchor. It doesn’t bother you?” 

As though to answer the question, Dorian pressed their palms together, threading their fingers. He could feel the Anchor in a weird kind of way. It was made of pure magic, a piece of the Fade engrained into the flesh, it was hard not to feel it. It mostly felt like lightning over his skin, zipping around and leaving a faint prickle behind. 

“Not really, no.” He answered calmly. “It’s almost like a constant buzz against me; it’s not entirely unpleasant.” 

Banal snorted, “I’ll keep that in mind.” Somewhere an owl hooted as silence spread over them. The Inquisitor didn’t ask for his hand back again, instead just eating quietly. Or rather picking through the stew. After he was finished, Banal just watched the stars, finding age-old constellations. He got into a little debate with Dorian over the origin of one such star group, which lightened the mood a little. 

Banal snorted, “What else have shemlen taken and claimed their own invention? The air?” He rolled his eyes. Dorian chuckled at the lighthearted jab. 

“Oh I don’t know about air, but surely every great wonder of the world was created by humans.” Dorian fired back as the elf sat back on his elbows. 

“Of course. Though with your love for explosions, I’m amazed there’s anything left of this world.” 

“That’s a little harsh isn’t it? Not all of us blow up religious buildings for fun.” Dorian looked back at the elf just as he was yawning. It made him laugh, as the elf looked disgusted that the motion had the audacity to happen. “Tired?” 

Banal snorted, “Hardly.” He sat up again though he really wanted to close his eyes. His exhausted brain still managed to think of something to keep him awake. He grinned as he leaned in towards the Altus. His lips brushed against the man’s ear as he whispered, “Perhaps I need you to tire me out.” 

Dorian blinked. The man could hardly stay awake riding a horse, and yet he was… “My dear Inquisitor, are you suggesting what I think you are?” Sex in his quarters was one thing. Sex at camp was a whole new beast. For one they’d have to be rather quiet to avoid waking the others, and there would be no way to be discreet. 

Still Banal smiled luridly, “That depends. Are you thinking about you and me in my tent, preferably naked?” He nibbled a bit on his earlobe. He was entirely being unfair, of course, but hearing the human’s breath hitch made it worth it. 

The Altus’s mind kept freezing at the part of having sex at camp. The Inquisitor’s tent was farther away from the rest, but tent walls were a far cry from stone walls. “You do realize we are at camp, right?” 

“Yes.” Banal frowned as he pulled back to look at the Altus. “I’m also aware that we are to stay here until tomorrow evening because of the heat. So I’ll be needing someone to distract me for the day.” He watched the human’s eyes. While sex in semi-public areas could be exhilarating, it seemed Dorian balked at the idea. A habit Banal wanted to break. 

“If you are worried about someone walking in or hearing us, I’ve a spell for both.” 

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. “A spell? What sort of spell?” He had learned no such spell before, and could think of many times where it would’ve been useful. 

Banal smiled. “I might show you,” He leaned in for a teasingly slow kiss. “If you come.” The words had barely brushed against Dorian’s face before the elf stood up. He gave a suggestive smile before sauntering back to his tent. 

After going several days without the elf even talking to him, this was beyond cruel. Like waving a piece of fruit in front of a starving man. Realistically, Dorian knew he shouldn’t. He was not someone who enjoyed being at the mercy of someone else’s whims. But Maferath’s useless balls did he want to follow the elf. 

He could make up excuses until Imperium conquered all of Thedas again, but he couldn’t give one reason why he was standing with indecision. Logically, the elf needed sleep, not sex. But it seemed he wasn’t going to do the former without the latter first. Then there was the fact that the elf suddenly wanted him when he’d been content to ignore everyone for days. Granted Dorian would ignore everyone else too if he had a flickering mark attracting demons. 

Even as he listed every reason why he shouldn’t, he was still heading for that tent. As if the elf had already cast a spell over him. He still took his sweet time, of course. The camp was mostly asleep, save for one sentry. They could get away with it seeing as there was hardly any place to be ambushed in a desert. Dorian doubted the sentry even noticed if there was anyone left awake. Probably too busy thinking of their own bedroll. 

Quietly Dorian slipped in the Inquisitor’s tent. To be greeted with a sight he was hardly expecting. 

Banal sat crosslegged on his bedroll, back to the entrance, drinking something. The gentle purplish hue glimmered in the sliver of moonlight let in by the tent flap. Dorian frowned, narrowing his eyes. He flicked two fingers towards the oblivious elf. 

Lightning sparked. Banal hissed as it jolted through his hand. The bottle slipped, spilling its contents over his front. He held his hand to his chest as he turned to glare at the human. “That was uncalled for.” He growled. It wasn’t like it hurt him. It was a mild enough shock to cause his hand to spasm but that was all. 

Dorian walked forward, arms crossed. “And is there some sort of magebane kink that’s popular where you come from?” Banal winced as he started trying to wipe the poison off his person. Not that helped much. Just touching the stuff hurt, like touching liquid lightning. The skin underneath his shirt twitched and itched. 

“Well to be perfectly honest, I didn’t think you’d come.” Banal grumbled as he pulled off his shirt. If he thought he was going to get Dorian off track this time, he would be sorely surprised. 

“And your solution is to drink poison?” How was poisoning yourself even an option? Most people thought slow suicide to be a last resort kind of thing. The Inquisitor seemed to think of it as a first option. Why Dorian couldn’t fathom. 

“My solution is to dull my connection to the Fade and that means either poison or blood magic. Pardon me for choosing poison.” Banal snapped. This was going to turn into argument, he thought absently. Some of them needed to get a good night’s rest. A wave of his hand cast the spell. Magic pooled out of him, contouring to the tent’s interior like a second skin. It shimmered with different colors as it settled. 

Dorian rolled his shoulders, nose twitching. The spell felt like he was suddenly drenched in ice cold water. But no sounds could be heard from the outside. No owls, or bugs or certain party members’ snoring. Just complete silence broken only by the duo’s breathing. At least he was still lucid enough to cast spells. 

“Since when are those the only two options?” Dorian wasn’t about to let up. 

The bad news was neither was Banal. “Oh I’m sorry. Would you prefer me to ask to be purged every morning? Or perhaps just have Cassandra make me Tranquil? That’d surely be better.” The elf huffed. “Or I know, let’s just cut off my fucking hand.” 

“Causing pain and committing magical suicide are also **last** resorts, not firsts!” 

“If you’ve got a better idea, Dorian, I’d love to hear it!” Their glares locked, neither one relenting. If anyone could see them, they’d find it amazing for someone to match the heat and intensity of the elf’s glare. But Dorian had plenty of practice matching sheer stubbornness with his own. He half expected the elf to make some lewd joke just to win, but he kept quiet. 

Truth be told, Dorian didn’t have any idea on how to help him. He just knew that drinking poison wasn’t a good way to solve your problems. Funny how he didn’t follow his own advice. Alcohol was just as much a poison as magebane, yet it was the first thing Dorian turned to. It didn’t solve problems, but it made you forget about them for a little while. 

Dorian blew his breath out his nose. This was a losing battle wasn’t it? The elf didn’t trust anyone enough to let them close. He shouldn’t fool himself into thinking he could be the one allowed inside. 

He was the first to look away. If the elf wanted to throw his life away, that was his business. Dorian sighed and shook his head as he turned around to leave. 

“Do you have any ideas?” stopped him as he was about to go. The elf had turned back around, but his voice was quiet. “I have always been in control of my dreams, yet I get this mark and suddenly I’ve no control over what goes on in my head. It is maddening.” 

Dorian kept quiet for a moment. “Most people go their entire lives not being able to control their dreams. And they don’t poison themselves.” 

A soft snort echoed around them. “I suppose that’s true. But I do rather like being the only one inside my head.” 

“Here’s an idea,” Dorian turned back still with his frown. “Let us help you. Solas obviously knows something about the Anchor and Cole just wants to help. The rest of us…well we can try can’t we?” Banal had just barely begun to trust them in battle, but not in his personal life. 

Banal slowly turned to look at the eyes boring into his back. “I have lived my entire life without ever having to rely on anyone—“ 

“Well that’s another habit you need to break.” Dorian interrupted. “You are the Inquisitor, without you there is no Inquisition. You’ve hundreds of soldiers willing to sacrifice their lives for you, hell even this rag-tail group of companions are willing to do just that. Yet you don’t trust us enough for that.” 

Banal stood. Trust was a funny word to him. Most thought of it with hope and generally good feelings. He thought of it with contempt and pain. He recalled every time he had trusted and been rewarded with a stab in the back. “Trust is not an easy thing for me to do, Dorian. I’ve done it many times before and have always ended up losing.” 

“I’m pretty sure most of us here understand that you are the only one standing between us and certain doom. Betrayal seems counterproductive.” Dorian quipped. “Not to mention you control the largest army in Southern Thedas and are basically an icon of the Chantry. I don’t foresee anyone with half brain to dare to even think of attacking you.” 

But they’ll still try, Banal thought. He didn’t voice his melancholy thoughts. Perhaps the white was starting to take effect on him, but sensing the worry the others had for him didn’t hurt as it usually did. It pained him in an unfamiliar way. Like he was disappointed with himself for making them worry? But that made little sense. What did he care what they did? Their emotions did not matter in the long scheme of things. 

For a moment, Banal struggled to think of what the long-term goal of this was. After Corypheus was dead, what use did he have? His brain was obviously sleep-deprived if he couldn’t think of his original plan for this all. 

He sighed before bowing slightly. “I will try, Dorian, but I do not promise anything else.” He straightened to find a very confused human staring at him. It was like he was speaking elven again. He quickly ran back through the words he used, making sure none of them had other meanings. 

“It is odd to see you bow, Inquisitor.” Dorian finally clarified. “Especially to someone who is considered your subordinate.” 

Banal snorted. “Do not get used to it.” 

“Perish the thought.” 

Banal looked to the side for a moment before tentatively approaching the human. “So I imagine you are going to be sleeping in your own tent?” 

The Altus blinked. “You just drank magebane and you still want to have sex? You are an odd elf.” 

“You are just now figuring that out?” The Inquisitor laughed. “And I only drank a small sip before you so rudely shocked me.” He glared a tad, but then turned it back into that sad little smile he always seemed to get. “If you do not wish to, I don’t blame you. We are both in desperate need of a bath and most people don’t find arguments to be attractive, and then there’s the heat and—“ 

Dorian held up a hand to stop him. “Promise me one thing.” Banal hated that word: promise. It was like a leash, chains around your neck. It set you up high on a pedestal. The width of which was barely enough for one foot to balance on. 

“I suppose that depends on what you ask.” 

“No more magebane. Drunk you I can handle, glassy-eyed you I can’t.” It was too much like he was made Tranquil. And the Tranquil made Dorian uneasy and a touch saddened. 

Banal smirked and nodded once. “That was the last bottle anyway.” Dorian didn’t comment on the fact that that afternoon they had five bottles still. The Inquisitor didn’t look like he was drugged, so he decided to believe that he had only the one left. And if he did have more, Dorian would just shock the poison out of the elf. “So my question remains unanswered. Are you staying or going? If you are staying, then you are horribly overdressed.” 

Dorian looked down at the elf as he kept a respectable distance between their bodies. Walking away was getting harder it seemed. “This spell of yours…it muffles sounds?” He asked as he looked at the shimmering field around them. 

“Muffles?” Banal sounded like he was offended. “Muffles he says! My dear, dear Altus, it cancels out all sounds both in and out. We can’t hear outside, they can’t hear inside.” Wards around the camp would alert Banal to any funny business going on outside, and the party all knew not to enter the Inquisitor’s tent unannounced. He said he was going to start putting fire glyphs around his tent, and that’s exactly what he did. And they were the ‘friendly fire’ sort. 

“Well that’s handy.” Dorian chuckled as he pulled the elf closer. “I know how you hate not hearing my voice.” 

“You do have a rather attractive voice.” 

“A compliment I get so often.” 

***** 

Cole felt something odd. Odder than usual. Banal’s snakes were scattered, scurrying and straying. Rather than being a bundle of snakes, it was more like a floor of snakes. It let him see all of them at once. Many he already knew, but couldn’t help yet. 

But as he focused on sorting through them, looking at the ones that were targeted, he found a strange one. It wasn’t black, but white. It was big and bloated, long and lost. It existed half here and half not here. Parts were hidden behind a wall that was beginning to crack, if Cole could sense it correctly. 

The white snake hurt the most, pulsating pain, fear, hate. Cole was hesitant to touch it, to see what hurt it held. Magic surrounded it, dancing and fluttering all about from the wall. But if what was pulling the Inquisitor into the Fade was after that hurt… 

Cole would help heal it first. Maybe the other snakes wouldn’t hurt as much with it gone. The Inquisitor was asleep finally so it was easy to touch the white and slip into the hurt for them both to see. 

***** 

_Their weapons clashed, spear against spear at that moment. It was child’s play for him to parry the battle mage’s point away. He could have hooked and wrenched it away, but he was having fun._

 _“Pole-arms are easy to best,” the battle mage had mocked earlier that morning. Banal took that as a personal challenge. He had chosen that has his weapon of choice. After all, it could be used as a spear and a staff at the same time. Side-arms, however, couldn’t. The battle mage just laughed and said he didn’t need a staff. And yet, he had not won a single bout, even with his preferred axe._

 _

Banal feinted low only to thrust high. The other dodged. A few strands of blond hair fell into his aqua colored eyes. He tried to thrust low. Banal easily countered, deflecting it down towards the grass. He retracted his spear before thrusting it forward. The blond staggered a few steps back as Banal kept on the offensive. 

“You two aren’t done yet?” Came a new voice into their little clearing. The duo separated briefly, turning to see the newcomer. A woman with russet colored hair wrapped like dragon horns stood in the shade of a tall tree. Another man stood behind her, brown hair tied back, part of an animal’s skull crowning his head. 

“Hardly. He’s yet to concede that he’s lost.” Banal laughed as the blond set his battle stance once more. “He’s being stubborn as always.” The other two laughed as they settled down to watch the fight. 

“Did you expect anything less, ma vhenin?” The blond snorted. Banal barely even blinked as he was rushed. A thrust up hooked the other’s spear handle into his wings, knocking the attack off balance. A simple spin wrenched the weapon from his hands. He brought the side of his weapon against the battle mage’s skull before shoving his shoulder against his chest. The blond landed on the ground with a loud huff. 

“I’d expect the prince to know when he’s been beat, ma nas’falon.” Banal nearly cooed. He leaned against his staff as the blond glared up at his smile. “Care to have another go, vhenin?” Banal tucked a chin-length black strand back behind his ear, barely breathing hard. 

The battle mage glared, but then tangled their feet. Pain flared in Banal’s back as he hit the grass. The other wasted little time getting on top of him and pinning his arms down. His spear was tossed away from him. 

“Don’t get smug, you’ll be insufferable.” The blond snickered. He leaned down and pecked Banal’s lips, one, two, three times. He knew the other did not like open displays of affection with others so close by. “So since I got you on the ground and disarmed, does this mean I win this bout?” He joked. 

Banal frowned, but he had an incredibly light feeling in his chest. Seeing his smile had that effect on him. His heart would race, not just because this was a forbidden-fruit type relationship. His thoughts would become incoherent and all he’d want to do was hold and be held. 

“Hmmm, I’ll allow it.” Banal said with the tone of a king. The blond laughed, tracing that one pale streak to its end. Sometimes he wondered which of them the prince was and who the servant was. 

“So…what does that make the score now?” 

Banal chuckled before flipping them. He sat on the man’s chest, looking down at him lazily. “I do believe this makes it…seven to one, vhenin.” The blond huffed at the tally. He hated to lose anything. “Oh don’t pout, it’s unbecoming.” Banal leaned down so their foreheads were touching. “I prefer your smile.” 

“Hmmm.” The battle mage hummed, closing his eyes. The meadow was quiet, sun shining gently upon them. Time was almost suspended as he felt the black-haired elf’s breath fan over his face. Everything was right, calm. Though their hearts beat separately, they were one and he was going to be damned if he let him slip away again. 

The dark thought crept into his mind. Slowly he opened his eyes to those bright green ones. He could not remember what he did when they were not there. “Do not leave me again.” He whispered. 

Banal furrowed his eyebrows. “What an odd thing to say, vhenin.” He kissed the man’s forehead before sitting back up. 

“I’m serious—,” Banal felt a sharp stabbing pain course through his ears as the man beneath him said a name. A loud ringing filled his head. The blond looked concerned as he sat up, trying to examine Banal’s face. 

Banal shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head. The pain was enough to make him see white. But below the ringing, he could hear sounds of the Fade. This was a dream…or was this a memory? He felt that he’d seen this before, but ages ago. And yet… 

Something was entirely wrong…

_

***** 

Cole was thrown out of the snake. He was still in that hazy gray area inside the Inquisitor’s mind. The wall was glimmering, shimmering and shaking. Pale blue lights danced in this dark area. The snakes writhed when it touched them. 

Slowly the light condensed into a form. It was hard for the spirit to see the other spirit. The Fade pressed against his mind, threatening to break through as the Inquisitor began to wake up. But Cole could still feel the presence. 

Ominous, powerful, but a fragment of what was real. It was a part of Banal, and yet a separate piece. The presence was a part of the wall. The white snake slithered back behind the presence that stood there staring at Cole. 

“Leave it be.” It spoke. The voice boomed around the gray space that was starting to dissolve. Cole shivered as the voice pressed against him. This was something powerful and ancient. Something he had not seen before. 

He tried to tell the other spirit he meant no harm. “But I can help. It hurts him, hates him—“ 

“It is better that way.” Cole sensed sadness come from the presence as it looked back at the wall. “Let him hate; it is better than him remembering.” When it looked back at him, power surged from it. It washed over Cole, pushing him back. The wall shimmered as cracks were filled in. But it was only surface deep. Cole could still feel the breaks, the weak spots that had let the white snake out. 

“Leave,” each word pushed him further back. “It. Be.” Then Cole’s connection was cut. 

***** 

Banal jolted awake, shaking terribly. He just about sent off a fireball before he noticed arms around him. His chest heaved with every breath as he struggled to recall anything and everything that wasn’t that dream. He twisted to look behind him just as Dorian was stirring. 

“Bad dream?” The Altus asked, cracking an eye open. He looked at Banal’s face, seen the sweat, pain, and fear there and sat up. He kept one arm around the elf’s midsection. For once Banal was thankful for the company, to have someone else with him. His hand shook as it found the human’s. For a moment, Banal felt caught between two worlds. The material world and the Fade. He couldn’t tell you which was real and which was an illusion. Just as he couldn’t say what that dream was. He felt like he had lived it before, but it wouldn’t fit inside his head. 

He felt confused and mixed up. The world was not real at that moment. And he desperately needed it to be. 

Before Dorian could speak again, Banal crashed their lips together. Their teeth clacked with the force of the kiss, but that did little to deter the elf from pushing him down on his back. He wanted something to be real. He needed to know he was awake, that this was real, happening. 

Dorian twisted his face away to look up at the elf. His green eyes were frightened, frantic. He wondered what made him so. The Altus couldn’t read minds, but he came close. Sometimes the nightmares that came with being a mage could only be chased away with something tangible and raw. 

Carefully, like he was touching broken glass, Dorian reached up to cradle Banal’s face. He guided him back to his lips for a much gentler kiss. Which quickly turned feral as Dorian felt that silencing spell settle over them again. 

The elf was a peculiar lover. He asked permission for everything; he never just did anything. Yet this time he didn’t ask anything, not that Dorian would complain. Sometimes the constant assuring he didn’t want to stop got annoying. He wasn’t made of glass, and he was certainly accustomed to rougher sex. The elf was rather docile compared to some the Altus had been with for a night. And far less vocal. 

After they had both expended themselves, Banal rested his head against Dorian’s torso, letting himself come down. His body trembled slightly, still inside. He felt fingers running through his hair, brushing against the sensitive tips of his ears. For just that moment, he felt grounded again. The dream-memory thing was in the far reaches of his mind. 

Then Banal mentally kicked himself. He had sworn long ago to never take these sorts of things. He might suggest them, but never initiate or force them. Yet he felt like he did just that. For selfish reasons. It unsettled his bliss as though he had actually used the human. 

He sat up, pulled out and went to get a cloth to wash them with. Dorian was quiet save a small noise of complaint as Banal got up. He watched with a half-lidded gaze as the elf came back with a wet rag. 

He folded his legs gracefully beside the human as he began to ensure he didn’t…damage anything. Magic heated the wet rag to a comfortable temperature. Banal’s eyes spotted small scratches and the beginnings of bruises around the human’s hips. He washed over those gingerly. “Ir abelas,” his voice was barely above a whisper. 

Dorian sat up on one elbow to give him a quizzical look. “For what? I’ve had worse than a few scrapes from far less…enjoyable encounters.” He tried to keep his tone light. He felt an icy coldness spread over the marks, tingling and stabbing them with tiny needles. But that was just how Banal’s healing worked, wasn’t it? 

“Not about that…” Banal rolled his eyes. They glinted and flashed hypnotically, making him seem like some specter made of moonlight and darkness. “I…did not ask first. I took. And for that I humbly apologize.” He bowed slightly. 

Dorian nearly sighed aloud. “Can you explain to me why it is necessary for you to verbally ask again?” They’d been through it that first time, sure, but that didn’t mean he understood it. 

“I do not know your limits, Dorian, and will not push you passed them.” Banal turned to cleaning himself as he answered. 

“And do you not think I would tell you to stop if you did manage to reach one of them?” 

“No.” Dorian blinked at the curt answer. The elf gave a hefty sigh, tossing the rag to some corner of his tent. “I’ve had many lovers feign on me before. Because I have power over many things and in their minds it would be unwise to tell me no.” There was also a memory, or strand of a memory, a fleeting glimpse. He remembered pretending to feel pleasure for someone, how it revolted him to his very core. No was a useless word against those who took what they wanted. “And I have some…experience in having to do unpleasant things.” 

Dorian would normally have laughed at the elf thinking he’d be quiet when he didn’t like something. Also a tiny bit insulted that he had suspicions Dorian was using him for something. But Banal’s voice was far off, reliving bad memories it seemed. So Dorian decided to drop the subject for another time. 

That they wouldn’t be moving until evening again was a blessing. This night, or morning he supposed if the faint traces of light could be believed, was becoming a dreadfully long one. But that’s what he signed up for. 

“So mind telling me what woke you so suddenly?” Dorian probed. The elf laid back down next to Dorian, with his back to him, as though to deter all hopes of conversation. Banal listened to Dorian sigh softly and lay back down. Silence spread through the tent. Dorian nearly fell back asleep before the Inquisitor answered. 

“A memory…I think.” Pain and an old sadness seeped into his voice. “Or a dream pretending to be one. I do not know which poison I would rather drink.” 

Dorian lay on his side, putting an arm around the elf as they had been before he woke up. Banal would loathe to admit it, but he had missed this kind of intimacy. The feeling of calm breaths on the back of his neck, of warmth encasing him (though he’d be less happy to have that warmth once the sun was beating down on them again) all lulled him into a calm. It detached him from everything wrong. 

Memories were stupid and fallible. Bull had once spoken to him about the re-educators his people had. The Ben-Hassrath’s friend had compared the mind to a book, memories just a chapter or page. That was a nice way of putting the mind. It could easily be manipulated, crafted to think such a way or even forget certain things. 

He didn’t need memories to survive. They just seemed to hurt more. And what did it matter if Banal had once loved some prince? Love was just as fallible as memories. A fleeting emotion that could snap at any moment, that was love. A childish hope, a dream you wished upon a star. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Lips pressed against the back of his neck. Banal’s back stiffened at the unfamiliar gesture. But he couldn’t quite turn enough to stare at the human who spoke in a groggy tone. “And something about this memory dream disturbed you?” 

Disturbed him? He wouldn’t say it disturbed him, and yet… It felt like it was a part of him but not. It had opened a wound, a hole in his very being that he had not known was there. Yet when he went to touch that wound, it wasn’t there anymore. “Confused would be a better word.” 

“Really? You seemed quite frightened when you woke up.” 

Banal snorted a moment. The human was sassy when his beauty sleep was disturbed. “Confused and pained. If it truly was a memory, then remembering sometimes hurt more than forgetting.” Banal felt the tip of Dorian’s nose brush against a few hairs, making him shiver. 

“You are awfully philosophical and poetic for someone who’s motto is kill first, ask questions later.” Dorian’s smirk bled into his voice. His eyelids drooped as he just enjoyed the feel of the moment. He hardly got these sorts of things. It was as nice as it was foreign. 

Banal chuckled, “It comes with age.” He left it at that so the human could sleep. Pain zipped along his left arm where the Anchor constantly buzzed. It provided a small flicker of light in its eerie fashion. But the erratic behavior of it didn’t bother the Altus who started to drift along into sleep. Or so Banal thought. 

“You aren’t going to go back to sleep anytime soon, are you?” Made the elf jump. He felt Dorian shift onto his elbow to look down at him. Banal kept staring at the side of the tent. 

“It’s amazing that we’ve only known each other a short time and yet you still know me so well.” Banal joked, though there was little humor in his voice. Dorian snorted. 

“You aren’t that difficult to figure out.” The Altus sighed. Stubbornness thy name is Banal, he thought. His fingers traced the few scars he could make out on his side and back. They must have been battle wounds, old battle wounds. They didn’t seem the kind you got from anything else. Images of marred slave backs flashed in his mind making him shiver. 

To distract him from such thoughts, his eyes fell upon the odd tribal marks over the elf’s hip. His fingers followed suit. “I’ve an inquiry for you, if I may.” 

Banal shifted so he could at least see the human talk. “Like I have much of a choice.” 

Dorian frowned his disapproval at him, “You always have a choice not to answer. Or would you rather I just left for my own tent?” The elf didn’t answer. But how his body stiffened under his fingertips spoke volumes. 

“What is your question?” Banal mumbled. He didn’t like the idea of needing someone again. Look how well that turned out the last time. He died. Perhaps it would have been wiser to have gone with the other twin, Dirthamen. He seemed like a hard-ass, and didn’t have the same tendency to sleep with slaves as his brother. That probably would’ve been safer. But he looked so much like his father it pissed Banal off. Of course, Falon’Din looked like his father too, not that anyone would know who his real father was. 

“Do these other tattoos mean anything?” Broke his thoughts. Banal blinked down at where the human was lightly tracing the lines. “Or are they merely for esthetic reasons?” 

“Why?” He asked skeptically. What did it matter what they meant or didn’t mean? They meant about as much as the ones on his face nowadays. 

“Curiosity. I’ve heard that the face tattoos are symbols of the elven gods, and merely wondered if there were other symbols as well. Or am I wrong?” It was odd for a human to show interest in anything to do with pointed ears. But Banal could guess Dorian was just trying to distract him, or make conversation like they had in the library. 

“You are not wrong.” Banal sighed. He looked down at his hip. He knew the reason why he had it on his body, but not the specifics. He understood the meaning behind the mark, but not when or how he got it. “That mark during the height of the Elvhenan was…” He stumbled. How do you explain an ancient practice that really made no sense when you thought about it? “It was a type of punishment, or maybe warning that you had committed a specific crime?” 

Dorian’s fingers paused as he furrowed his eyebrows. “A brand? Like the ones they put on pickpockets’ hands?” He recalled meeting one such fellow in Redcliffe. The letter ‘T’ was burnt into his hands. A rather barbaric method, but it did get the message across to innocent would-be victims. 

Banal’s eyebrows raised. “You do it on their hands now? The Elvhen put it on the thief’s face.” You could wear a glove to hide your hands, but wearing a mask was far more suspicious. At least back then. Now it was a fashion statement apparently. 

“On your face? Here I thought the elves had some sort of utopia.” 

Banal chuckled. “You should know better than most that every civilization has a dark side. The Elvhen may have looked perfect, but they had some of the ugliest flaws.” He shook his head solemnly. “But yes, like a brand. If you were convicted of a certain crime, there were marks placed upon you…if you kept your life that is.” 

“And this one? What crime could you have committed that warrants a brand?” Especially a brand that would only be seen in intimate encounters. 

Banal tried to think of a way to explain it. There was no equivalent as far as he knew for it. “Its name in your tongue would be the Mark of the Seducer. Anyone accused, falsely or otherwise, of seduction was branded with it over one hip. It was then tattooed over. Incredibly painful, and the ink was not like the ink used in vallaslin. It couldn’t be removed.” 

Dorian stared down at the red lines. He doubted the Dalish still practiced such a thing, so Banal might have just had it on his body for appearance reasons. Though he found it odd that the elf would put that mark on himself. “And the elves considered seduction as…?” 

“The wooing of a person for spiteful or malicious reasons. For example, a courtesan getting a nobleman to sleep with her so that she might have his bastard son to hold over his head as blackmail. There is one recorded case of a mistress, or a would-be mistress of an elven lord being raped and then accused of seducing the lord, which was considered to be bribery.” 

Dorian didn’t know how to respond to that. Apparently if you had enough money and power, you could still twist the truth to suit you even back then. He could only imagine how twisted elven politics were at that time. “And why over the hip, not on the face as a big warning if they were so worried about it?” 

Banal shifted so he was on his back. “Imagine for a moment that you are an elven lord, looking for your life’s mate. Pretend you have pointed ears basically.” Dorian chuckled but nodded. It was an odd image, the Tevinter with pointed ears. Banal thought about it a lot and decided Dorian would make for a fetching elf, though he could never settle on if he would be the same or different. Banal shook his head from such thoughts. “Now imagine this is the first time we’ve laid together and you saw that mark. You’d know that at some point in my life, I was accused of seducing someone. Now tell me what would run through your mind?” 

Dorian’s thumb brushed against the brand in question. His first thought would be if Banal was accused and guilty or not. But he tried to imagine himself having been brought up differently. He supposed even if he did ask, there would always be that sliver of doubt. “I would wonder if you were using me or if you’d be faithful.” Dorian finally spoke. 

“Exactly.” Banal smiled sadly. “It is not so much a warning for everyone, as it is a warning to the people you bed.” 

“And so why do you have such a mark?” 

“Youth.” Banal stated simply. It both explained it and left it open for interpretation. He himself couldn’t remember exactly why he had it, just that it happened when he was quite young. But even as he tried to concentrate on the memory, his eyes were drifting closed. His mind was calm again. If it were not for the rising heat, he might have drifted off to sleep right then. “And you? Does yours have a story?” 

Dorian chuckled as the elf struggled to keep his eyes open. The elf’s fingers absently danced across the tattoo on his forearm. “Hmm, no not really. Just…teenage rebellion.” 

“You got a tattoo to defy your parents?” 

“I suppose.” Dorian chuckled at the memory of his mother’s face. That made it worth it really. “Are you finally going to sleep?” He asked around a yawn of his own. 

“As though I could with this much heat surrounding me.” Banal shot an accusatory look at Dorian’s arms around his waist. The human laughed. He could have just let go as the elf had suggested, but he rather liked this small semblance of normalcy. So instead, Banal felt an ice spell slide over the Altus’s skin, making him irresistibly cool. Banal rose his head to mock glare at him. “You are just doing this so don’t have to move aren’t you?” 

The elf turned towards him to press his forehead against him. “No, I’m just incredibly selfish.” Dorian chuckled as he placed a kiss on top of his head. The Inquisitor gave a snort that was half sigh. 

“I’ll allow it.” Slipped out of his mouth before he could even register what he said. And by the time he did register the echo of the dream, he was drifting away. 

***** 

For the next few days, that became the routine. Not the frightened sex part, though that did happen at least once more. But the talking to the Inquisitor in the solitude of his tent became routine. 

Banal joined them around the fire again, though he still mostly picked at his meals. And he fidgeted a lot. But there was semblance of normalcy once more, with a bit more flickering on the Anchor’s part. And Dorian did find himself at the end of far more teasing than usual. Solas even went so far as to warn against their relationship. He was respectful but he hinted that Banal was little more than a desire demon. 

Dorian had waited for the Inquisitor to deny the claims, but he kept quiet. 

Still, the Altus was rather happy to be allowed the small glimpses of vulnerability that the elf showed him. Perhaps it was because the elf trusted no one and somehow Dorian had managed to win that trust. It was still odd though. 

Often times, Dorian could leave once the Inquisitor had fallen asleep. A few times, however, the elf caught the human in a death grip and wouldn’t let go even in his slumber. It was odd to hold the man who didn’t seem to be the type to like cuddling of any sort, but the Altus would be lying if he said he minded. His mind still said they should end this now. After all the Inquisitor didn’t say in any certain terms he wanted this little fling to be more than that. 

But feeling the Inquisitor sleeping next to him, he could at least ignore those thoughts. It was selfish and was only setting him up for disappointment later, but he’d allow himself that one foolhardy feeling. 

***** 

They could see the sulfur pits in the distance. The clouds from the pits rose and covered the horizon in a haze. They found it hard to believe there was something there. The world just seemed to end there. 

But Banal assured them there was a place hidden in the cloud as he stared at it. As they neared it, he became far more anxious and fidgety. Pacing the stretch of the camp, he could feel flickers of a foreign power inside the Temple. A weak demon, but a darkness that didn’t belong there in his sacred halls. 

He wanted it out and he wanted it out now. 

Banal wasn’t the only one that was starting to get antsy. Cole could sense a great blackness hidden in the clouds. Pain, anger, hate, death all mingled in that one spot. He got little flashes of an old marsh, beautiful and bountiful. Trees covered the land, denying the sun to dry up the water below. But it was never dark. 

Fungus, crystals, bugs, and spells all lit up that little world under the trees. Then the Sun came. Fire and power scorched the trees that protected it turning them to ash that turned to sand. People fled. People died. 

Whatever was beyond the clouds was worse though. It was such a pure place, a good place. But that also burned to ash and soon the halls ran red and screams became the wind. 

He didn’t like it one bit. It was like Adamant; it should be torn down. But beyond that (and it was very hard to get beyond that), the Inquisitor was tied to it. It felt like him. It **was** him. Sort of. 

Around this time, they started to get attacked by Templar Shadows and Stalkers. So they were obviously getting closer. Which didn’t help calm them any. What was it that the enemy wanted so bad that they were willing to trek into a desert? 

The more attacks that came, the more brutal the Inquisitor got. Like something snapped inside his head. Varric, Solas, and Cassandra remembered when they first met him and how vicious his methods were. Now they were about twice as bad. 

As they got within a day’s ride to the Temple, Banal instructed Cole to stay behind. Saying he might be killed just by being in the Temple. He told them all that they could all be killed just by being in there, and he suggested they all stay behind. But that felt like abandoning their Inquisitor, or his last ditch effort to push them away. Vivienne and Sera opted to stay behind to help defend the camp, while the rest said they would come. That wasn’t what Banal wanted to hear. 

He knew that the atmosphere of the place could kill people. It pressed against their minds and made them fragile. Remnants of disease would also be an issue. Then if his followers were still alive, they hadn’t been outside the Temple in millennia. The last time they were stuck there, desperation forced those who could not abstain from food to fall to cannibalism… 

Banal’s solution? Sneak off during the day while everyone slept. It worked. For a little while. Around noon, some went to check on him, and found his tent empty and his mount gone. And they all knew they wouldn’t be getting any sleep today. 

Despite the rising temperatures, they saddled their mounts and followed the tracks to the clouds. The winds got worse as they neared, blowing dust and gas all around them. But it soon gave way, allowing them to see what stood before them. 

The Templars built a rickety bridge across the pits to the weathered steps. The old stones were the color of the sand now, metals tarnished so much they didn’t know what it was originally. Vines seemed to be prevalent in the designs and two large statues flanked the ominous doors cut into a mountain’s face. 

Carefully they walked forward, each step getting harder. Darkness practically oozed out the entrance, more potent than the sulfur gas. Bodies littered the bridge, many more were in the pits below. Without anyone asking, they all knew Banal was most likely the cause of this. Far sooner than any of them would’ve like, they were at the doors. It was rather like finding a Deep Roads entrance. 

“So how sure are we that this whole mountain isn’t going to fall on us?” Varric asked as they all hesitated going inside. 

“Quite sure, Child of the Stone. It has stood this long without collapse.” Solas mumbled. Morrigan’s eyes was caught by something. 

Carved into the stone base of one of the statues, the elven script seemed younger than the sculpture it was etched into. Morrigan ran her hand over the words, brushing sand away to read it. “Enter this place of nothing and be corrupted.” She skimmed over a few more lines that were nearly worn away. What she could gather it was telling a story about two beings who fought here. One perished, and this was to be their tomb. There was also a line about the folly of the Sun to serve as a warning to those that entered. “Complete rubbish.” She concluded. 

“I would not discount history so quickly, Morrigan.” Solas chided. 

She turned to the bald elf with a scowl. Solas didn’t know how the Inquisitor managed not to kill her if she had the same elusive prideful look on her face when she addressed him. “This is hardly history. Tis a mere warning about upsetting some god who never was.” She scoffed. “Obviously if the enemy could enter, there is little reason to be afraid, yes?” 

Solas bit his tongue. His eyes drifted over to the writing. He did not know why it was placed there, or when. But he had a feeling he knew who had and that worried him. “We have little to fear about being cursed, that much is true.” He gave. “But we still need to be cautious.” 

“Indeed, something about this place makes my skin crawl,” Cassandra shivered as she looked at the ominous doors. Perhaps at one time they had been decorated with gleaming metals. But time and sand had worn away much of the place. She could still make out the large griffons that stood guard at the doors, despite very little to go off. 

A few other companions felt the same uneasiness. It wasn’t the usual corruption feeling that the Red Templars gave off, though there was plenty of that. Varric remembered that old thaig to be honest. That dark feeling the darkspawn gave off, only more concentrated. Which wasn’t a cheery thought. 

Still they entered through the doors hoping to catch up to the Inquisitor. 

***** 

The place was pitch black. The only light came from the entrance, but soon that wasn’t enough. The long passageway seemed to be pressing in on them as they headed for a pinprick of light. 

Solas remembered the place as being lit up by exotic plants and bugs. The pleasant aroma of hundreds of flowers would surround you as you walked to through the Gardens. That’s what they had called this section. The swamp invaded even inside of the mountain, tall underground trees grew strong with luminescent moss hanging from their branches. 

Now? Nothing but decay, sand, and blood could be smelt. The stone floors no longer lit up as you walked, no buzzing of fireflies or sound of trickling water could be heard in the oppressive silence. There were a few bodies of Templars and Venatori littering the ground, but not even the glow of red lyrium or their torches pressed away the gloom. 

They slowly made progress, having to be careful not to trip over corpses. “Right, this place isn’t creepy as hell…” Varric muttered. He felt like he was suffocating. Smiley definitely owed him for this. 

“And the elves used this place?” Blackwall’s voice echoed like some bad curse. “For what? Blood sacrifices?” It was hard to picture anyone wanting this place. 

“You aren’t that far off.” Solas whispered to himself. Soon the pathway brightened, opening into a vast cavern. There were no torches still. So why was it so bright? As they walked towards the broken stone bridge, they got their answer. The roof of the cavern held hundreds of crystals that emitted a gentle glow. Those crystals wove into a delicate filigree like someone had captured stars and arranged them. 

“How is this even possibly?” Cassandra remarked as she stared up at the ceiling. 

Morrigan looked up with sad eyes. Such beauty was now forever lost. These crystals, whatever they were, would never be seen in Thedas again. Yet they were preserved here, which was something she supposed. “Many things were lost it seems.” 

Solas nodded in agreement. Once this was a vast lake. The crystals would light up the waters reflecting them. A perfect illusion of a never-ending sky. The bridge was new though. Not so new that the Venatori had crafted it, but obviously built after the marsh turned to a desert. Or perhaps not… 

He walked to it. The stones had signs of being submerged in water and it had obviously not been broken off. The edge was smooth, awaiting its brethren to rise once more. A test. To walk the Vir Banal’ras, one had to abandon their fears, abandon their morals and instincts. For the path of shadows was one filled with blood, vengeance, not the path for those of light hearts. 

“So how do we get across?” Dorian asked, not seeing any of the enemies around. Or any sign of Banal either. So there had to be a way through. 

“Simple,” Solas gave a light chuckle as he walked forward. The party gasped as it looked like he was about to plummet to his death. But the stones hummed, glowing the color of flames as they became solid once more. “You walk.” 

“Interesting,” Morrigan was the first to walk onto the platform. She felt the thrill of magic course through her legs. An ancient spell could be heard underneath the hum, still singing strong despite its age. Her steps also made the stones glow orange. “I wonder what it took to create this.” 

Everyone shared a look before hesitantly stepping onto the ethereal bridge. Their steps were colored differently, something Solas took note of. Unless they found the Inquisitor soon, they’d have to run the gauntlet. He shivered remembering it. Even before when the Temple was still bountiful, it wasn’t a pleasant path. It catered to what the individual held in their hearts He just hoped the others wouldn’t have to find out. 

***** 

A lot of the Temple held nothing but darkness. Some areas let in light, holes in the ceiling and walls where the desert reclaimed the mountain. But mostly it was dark, lit only by the crystals on the ceiling. Sand covered the floors, soaking up the blood left in what they could only assume to be Banal’s wake. 

The mages all felt the thin Veil waiver as it pressed against the tangible world. The sheer amount of felandris growing was sign enough for the others. But the air itself pressed against them, stifling them. The further they got, the worse it became. 

Not only that but after a while metal glinted on the floor. Bull stopped and picked up a piece. At most it was something valuable, at worst it was leftovers from a trap. It was none of the above. 

Finely crafted silverite rested in his hand, little grooves carved into it. He picked up a few other pieces that were around that one. Sure enough they matched into a link of a chain. Solas then found a few larger pieces. He could feel residual energy resting in the grooves. These were the pieces of Dagna’s runes, broken most likely from the intensity of the Inquisitor’s magic. After all this was where much of his power came from. 

None of them had to say much to know that it was imperative to find the Inquisitor fast. His magic could kill him if left unchecked. And he was content to let it. After running what seemed to be ages (though was only a few minutes), they felt the ceiling begin to rise. The walls started to open up into another lit room. Sounds of the battle were echoing all around, but it was particularly loud from that room. Flashes of lightning and familiar blue fire made them run faster. 

It took a few seconds to register what they were seeing as they barreled into the chamber. Banal’s body was…smoking for lack of a better word. His magic literally smoked off him. It filled the air with a thick, humid feeling. He parried and struck with the wild abandon he only showed fighting against the dragon. But oddly that wasn’t the weirdest thing in the room. 

That would’ve been the griffon. 

Most pictures of the beasts depicted them as grey colored, but this one was golden. Fairly large (obviously an older adult), the beast easily overpowered the Templars trying to stick it with swords. A mighty flap of its wings sent the would-be attackers flying backwards. A swipe of its paw gouged out one warrior’s face. A loud screech stunned them, splitting everyone’s ears. 

The companions shook off the loud ringing in their ears before wading into the fray. Solas knew better than to cast a barrier over Banal. The black smoke created enough of a shield as it were. If anyone got near him, it’d lash out like a whip. The warriors headed for the heavier armors, the rogues just trying to stick the bad guys with enough arrows. 

The griffon didn’t seem to care about their presence as it snapped an idiot’s arm clean off. They were just flies to it. Or bees that didn’t really matter in the larger scheme of things. Just a minor hindrance. It spun and clawed, even used its beak to snap a man’s neck. It certainly evened the playing field though. 

The Templars and Venatori concentrated on the mythical beast in a desperate attempt. They all lunged for it at the same moment. But puff of black smoke blinded them. Then a dagger lodged itself in one of their necks. A blond elf jumped backwards from the diversion, allowing Banal to slam down with all his magic in that one spot. Heads hit the ground, bodies couldn’t move as the pressure shattered their spines and made their heads cave in. 

The Inquisitor’s chest heaved with every breath as he glared down at the corpses. He was covered head to toe in blood, his eyes more feral than any dragon’s. The white was gone, replaced by black. 

The blond began to speak in a quiet elven voice. It was hard to understand when someone had a mask over their mouth, but Solas could detect a slight accent that would’ve been common amidst the few wanderers of Arlathan. But the elf’s armor was the second major oddity. It seemed to be crafted from a dragon, mimicking the dragon. And the bow…Obviously made from dragon bone with sigils carved into its surface. Both would’ve been quite expensive… 

Banal listened, replying back with a strained and low tone. Meanwhile everyone else was confused as hell. So the griffon…was a shapeshifter? How was that possible? Varric wasn’t surprised, after all he met a witch who could turn into a dragon. 

The blond’s pale green eyes kept darting over to the humans, eyeing them suspiciously. “ _Master, who are they?_ ” 

Banal looked back to find his companions with lost looks. “ _Allies, N’lin. You’ve nothing to fear from them._ ” He turned back to the rogue. Nehnlin snorted at him. Even though you could not see his mouth, it was obvious he was smirking. 

“ _I fear nothing, least of all some round ears._ ” Nehnlin rolled his eyes. “ _Though I wouldn’t turn down someone telling me what they are doing here. When did the shemlen reach us?_ ” 

Banal winced. Had all his followers been living in this Temple for all this time? Alive? Or were they in Uthenera? If that was the case, how were they up and walking now? 

“ _Much has changed. What is the last thing you remember?_ ” 

Nehnlin shifted on his feet. His muscles were lethargic like he had sat for a long time or awoken from a deep sleep. His magic also felt…heavier. “ _I remember Vhena…she…_ ” Pain flashed in his eyes as the memory flitted through his mind. He shook his head fiercely. “ _Then that Creator, Falon’Din, came and said you were dead a few months later…_ ” 

Banal nodded thoughtfully. He could feel Fen’Harel’s eyes boring into his back, burning with questions he would never get an answer to. “ _And then?_ ” 

“ _I remember lying down to rest and then suddenly I am woken by an explosion at the gates…and these…things crawling around_.” Nehnlin motioned to one of the dead Templars with his the tip of his bow. 

“ _I see._ ” Banal shook his head. There would be time for catch up later. Right now, he could feel that weak darkness press further into the Temple. “ _We’ll have to catch up later, N’lin._ ” 

“ _Of course, Master. Sula and Sama are further in. We believe they are trying to reach the Inner Sanctum, so we’ve established choke points at key areas throughout the Temple._ ” Nehnlin stood straighter. “ _If it pleases you, I will take the rear guard of your…group._ ” His eyes rested on the humans, green filled with suspicion. 

“ _Very good._ ” Banal turned to the other companions. They were all massively confused and uncomfortable in this place. It was like the very air was suffocating them. It pressed and squeezed around them. Though there were battles going on, they could hear nothing. “Questions later, fighting now.” Banal stated bluntly, tightening his reins. 

“I think we deserve to know at least something.” Cassandra spoke up. She had felt dark magic before, but this? This was in a league all its own. Solas was wondering how the Inquisitor would squirm out of this noose. 

Morrigan, though she couldn’t follow the conversation completely, she understood enough to realize that the shifter knew Banal. And that was certainly interesting. “Indeed, it would be foolish to fight without knowing anything.” 

“You’ll fight because I will not let Corypheus take this place.” Banal growled. His entire body was tense, knuckles white around his staff. Then he let out a long breath, finding some shred of patience. “This is Nehnlin, guardian of this place. He will take the rear guard.” 

The shifter bowed, despite not understanding the words his master spoke. He just knew he was being talked about. An explosion shook the ground, making it far more apparent that they should keep moving. 

“This way, we’ll bypass the Trials.” Banal walked over to a seemingly blank wall. But as he got closer, his magic pulsed out. It hit the wall, sinking into little grooves and intricate designs. Purple light flashed once before the wall faded. “And do blow out your torches.” 

“Beg pardon?” Dorian asked. They were already blindly following him into this battle, now they had to literally be blind? 

“Do you trust me?” Banal asked bluntly. Everyone blinked, but nodded. “Then blow out your torches. You’ll be able to see.” He tried to give a reassuring smile, but it turned out strained. His group looked around before reluctantly snuffing out their fires. Banal waited as the old spells awakened. It felt like the stones were groggily getting out of bed. The whole building was beginning to awaken as it felt his presence. 

Slowly the magic released, lighting up the intricately carved floors. It filled the etchings though much of it was worn away. Around Banal it climbed up the walls, shifting to every color imaginable. Everyone else had their set color. 

“If the elves could do this…” Blackwall muttered aloud. The amount of magic poured into this place made the elves seem like gods. They could make the ground light up, crystals glow, and who knows what else. How did the humans ever… 

“A great number of things were lost.” Morrigan concluded before they followed Banal into the hidden hallway. 

“ _Not lost. Just forgotten._ ” Banal whispered under his breath. 

******

They ran through numerous rooms, some just filled with sand, others were so vast they couldn’t see what they were used for. Twists and turns abound, it was a wonder the Inquisitor didn’t get lost. Not to mention the number of traps. 

A few times Nehnlin and Banal had to create bridges with rubble or pure magic to span a floor trap. Other times, everyone had to watch where they stepped. Certain tiles would shoot out poison darts or spikes. Many of the traps were destroyed Banal assured them, but the amount that weren’t made everyone wonder. 

Eventually they could hear battles happening. The gloom wasn’t as suffocating as the beginning. But it was replaced with the smell of blood. The silence was broken by the sounds of the dying. As they got back on the main path, they could see bodies of Templars, Venatori, and other elves. 

Banal swallowed hard. His heart clenched for a moment before he shoved it down. There would be time to grieve later. He pushed harder for the room ahead. He would massacre an entire squad for every one the enemy took down. He swore it. 

With that thought sending fire through his veins, his magic poured out again. It smoked and wisped around him like a miasma. Blue invaded the Inquisitor’s shifting lights. Up ahead crystals lit up the room allowing fleeting glimpses of the battle, of another blond man shielding a silver-haired woman. 

The black cloud wrapped around his legs as he pushed himself to go faster. He shadow-stepped, staff blade materializing in the chest of a Venatori. The two elves looked for a fleeting moment at him before refocusing. Nehnlin pushed his way forward ahead of the rest of the group, arrows already in his hand. 

Banal spun and smacked a Templar Shadow in the throat with his staff. Fire blasted it up. The woman retreated to a corner the warrior covering her. Healing magic pulsed out from her. Her lips moved in an unbroken string of elven spells. Barriers covered them like sheets falling over them. 

Solas, Dorian, and Varric took up position in front of her. An ice wall blocked their exposed side. Lightning and arrows helped keep the fight away from them. The warriors taunted the larger Knights as reinforcements came from a hole in the wall. Nehnlin found a little ledge to safely fire from. Four, five arrows shot out in succession. Three enemies dropped. 

Banal did sweeping magic spells. His blade cut any who came too close. The elven man kept people off his back, more agile than someone in heavy armor should be. All in all, it was an even fight. 

Until the mages showed up. Three in total, they covered the ground with fire glyphs. The warriors had a hard time finding safe ground to walk on. Then one of them set the air, the **air** on fire. It spread quickly, though it seemed to be in slow motion. Heat and flames threatened to take away all the oxygen in the room. 

Those closest to the mage hit the ground to avoid having their faces melted, but they couldn’t fight like that. As they all felt the fire roar closer, Cassandra began to gather her training. But in that heartbeat, the flames started to sputter and spit. 

The mages grasped their throats, blue smoke wafting around them, the fires dying. Their magics burned inside them, creating the smoke. It wasn’t magic. They had all been around Cassandra long enough to feel the distinct absence of magic. But she didn’t do it. 

“ _About time!_ ” The blond warrior shouted, turning to a short woman as she descended a few steps. Her fiery hair offset her dark skin and highlighted her gold eyes. She held one arm out, concentrating entirely on the mages. Dorian, Morrigan, and Solas all felt the void of magic radiating from her. 

One of the Templars tried to rush her. The woman broke concentration. A swift and hard downward strike nearly cut the Templar in half. She settled into a familiar stance as the battle begun anew. The two archers focused on taking down the three Venatori mages. Solas aided in keeping everyone covered with barriers, while Dorian and Morrigan provided traps. 

And the warriors tried to stay out of the woman’s and Banal’s ways. The latter abandoned his staff in favor for two spirit blades. His body grew immaterial, though the Anchor and the little veins it created were very prominent. 

The warrior woman wielded her greatsword with ease and grace. It was nearly as big as her, but she threw it around like it was paper. She spun it around, slicing through defenses or forcing enemies back. She couldn’t afford to be hit. 

She didn’t have much in the way of armor. Just ornamental armbands covering her left arm. Much of her left collarbone was also exposed. Her torso did have some protection underneath her short overdress. Her legs did as well unless someone came up from behind… 

But her thoughts were running through this dance. Duck, spin, parry, attack, dodge, pommel strike, whirlwind…One enemy bled into the next. She swallowed the tics that wanted out as she charged a particularly stubborn Knight. Her sword pierced through his armor and lodged into the wall behind him. Her neck jerked as she struggled to pull her sword out. 

“ _Sula! Behind you!_ ” Cvenna, the silver-haired woman, yelled. Sula’s ears flicked back at dirt scuffing underneath a boot. She let go of her sword and hit the ground, rolling back onto her feet to face the new enemy. Metal scraped against metal as she drew her longsword. 

Her lungs burned as she focused on all the details of the fight. Arvaan shield bashed an opponent into the waiting blade of a dark haired woman. Cvenna was protected behind three strangers, one a dwarf. Nehnlin fired arrows at an inhuman speed, forsaking much of his accuracy in favor of raining death over the field. And Banal…well Banal was just slaughtering what was in arm’s reach. 

Sulahn’mi parried an attack meant for her stomach. As she met his blade multiple times, she stepped back. Her arms were getting tired and each blow felt harder than the last. What she failed to see was the corpse behind her. Another strike, another retreat. 

She barely comprehended tripping. One moment she was upright, the next she was hitting her back. The world slowed down. The gleam of the blade aimed for her heart. Her brain scrambled for any move to save her. But it was like she had a fog inside her head from sleeping too long. In a last ditch effort to protect herself, she threw her arms in front of her chest. Her eyes squeezed shut, hoping it wouldn’t hurt that bad. 

Blood coated her. But there was no pain. Hesitantly she cracked an eye open. The enemy warrior’s throat bled from a sword sticking through its side. Banal looked down his nose at the person he just skewered. He shoved the body to the side, dissolving his blade. 

“ _I hope you weren’t going to just let him kill you, da’mi?_ ” He slid his gaze over to her. She chirped many times before she could form an answer. 

“ _I…my mind froze. I cannot offer much more than that, my lord._ ” She took the hand offered to her before bowing. It was a stupid mistake. You had to remain aware in close quarters combat. What if instead of a corpse it was a spike trap? Or a cliff? Or a firepit? A dragon’s lair? Another enemy’s sword. Fifty different possibilities whirled through her mind. 

Before she could work herself up, a large hand rested on top of her head. “ _You are thinking too much again._ ” Banal still had his apathetic look as he looked down on her. But he ruffled her mess of curls once before turning to take stock. “ _Just learn from this, alright?_ ” 

“ _Glad to see you haven’t changed much, sir_ ” Arvaan panted. He was on the ground, letting Cvenna tend to his shield arm. Nehnlin hopped down from the ceiling as the humans all caught their breath. The Fade made it harder to breathe, and the air was so stagnant that every breath felt empty. 

Banal snorted in response. Sulahn’mi walked to retrieve her sword from the wall. “That’s a pretty big sword for such a small elf…” Bull commented. She barely reached Banal’s chest. Compared to the Qunari she was a dwarf. 

“And where does an elf learn Spell Purge?” Blackwall asked. “She doesn’t look like any Templar I’ve ever seen.” 

“Not a Templar.” Banal interrupted. “She does not need lyrium.” Solas cocked an eyebrow. The Forgotten One had his hand in this no doubt. The warrior wielded a Champion’s sword. How he managed to coerce or trick her had yet to be seen. 

Sulahn’mi and Nehnlin managed to work her blade out of the wall without damaging either, though the warrior still had to check it over five times. She could understand a few phrases that was being spoken. It was common tongue, something her mother forced her to learn to deal with the dwarven merchants her House traded with. 

But it was odd to see what she assumed were humans speak it. Even odder to see the big…horned…person speak it. “Stone-met, durgen’len.” She bowed to Varric. He was pretty much the only normal person in this group aside from the bald elf. 

Varric blinked. Holy shit…He didn’t think anyone here spoke common tongue. More importantly, she was addressing him like a ‘proper Orsammar dwarf’. “Uh…nice to meet you too?” He said awkwardly. “How does an elf speak the common tongue?” He looked to Banal. He merely turned to Sula who was running through all her lessons in perfectly clarity. 

“My mother learned me?” She shifted uncomfortably. In all technicalities, that was correct. At least it was when she learned it. Now it just sounded cute. “I do not speak it well.” She mumbled. 

Nehnlin and Arvaan stared at her oddly. A blush darkened her cheeks, her head going down as she tried to make herself invisible. “ _Sulahn’mi, what is the status?_ ” Banal asked. 

“ _Honestly? Not good. I left Sama and Sora further ahead when I heard fighting down here. Lotus could tell you more; he’s running around trying to keep as many of us alive as possible._ ” Healers often were the ones to know the full extent of battles. Soldiers lost track of things, knowing only battle. Healers saw the aftermath of those battles. Banal nodded. 

“ _Garas_ ,” Banal stated, motioning for the door out of this chamber. Arvaan stood up working his sore shoulder before he and Sulahn’mi saluted. Cvenna wiped her bloody hand on her bodice, blowing a few strands out of her eyes. 

His human companions sighed. Being out of the loop was not a feeling they enjoyed. Bull and Varric? They were used to not understanding shit. So they shrugged and just figured, the sooner they got to the end of this Temple, the sooner they could leave. 

*****

This time they met resistance in the halls. Corpses were piling up, not all of them enemies. But the new elves didn’t take the time to look at their dead. They were under attack, they didn’t have time. And they surprisingly didn’t ask a lot of questions, Solas noted. The Champion would sneak curious glances at the Iron Bull, but she did not voice it. Instead they seemed content to blindly follow Banal. He couldn’t fathom it. They obviously didn’t understand what was going on, who these people were (more importantly what these people were), but still they fought. And took Banal’s word that their little group of humans were not the enemies. 

Morrigan on the other hand attempted to glean some information out of the Champion. Her name was Lady Sulahn’mi of House Enladrin, Champion of Arlathan. Bull commented that her name was bigger than she was. He earned a very dirty glare from that. The other warrior was a mercenary named Arvaan, Vaan for short. The other woman was Cvenna. But that was about the only useful information she could give them before more enemies swarmed them. 

It was hard fighting in such a tight place. Varric and the mages had to cease fire to avoid hitting their teammates. Nehnlin wasn’t hindered really. He pulled out two more daggers and fought with those. The warriors kept bumping into each other, a few times accidently catching an ally. 

But eventually they managed to push their way into a slightly larger area. On one side of the room were large doors similar to the ones at the entrance with a large basin in front of it. Crystals spiraled everywhere in the room. The eerie lighting made the carnage that much more sickening. 

Still they fought. By now, they were all tired and fatigued. Even Banal was panting heavily. The Anchor didn’t make much of a fuss, but he still hadn’t slept in a day. Neither had the other companions. The new elves had all just woken up and were still fighting off the dregs of Uthenera. 

Banal’s staff began to crack as more magic smoked out. All his jewelry crumbled away if it hadn’t already. Though his movements were getting sloppy, he still managed to murder everything that got in his way. He took a few hits, but brushed them off. Solas and Cvenna kept their eyes on him. 

The small chamber didn’t help. The amount of corpses made it treacherous fighting grounds, but Corypheus’s forces refused to relent. They wanted through those doors without Banal following them. 

Then their bodies suddenly seized, the doors colliding with the walls. Blood lifted and spiraled. It swirled around a pale woman. Her arms were raised like she was conducting a symphony. Magic thickened the air around her, pulsing as more was added. She twisted her hands. Skin began to ripple. Blood boiled, ran from their noses, their ears. It bled from their eyes as their brains were cooked. All the while pure blue eyes watched. 

“Blood magic…” Cassandra hissed, readying her sword. Banal grabbed her arm tightly. His eyes glared. 

“She is of no threat to you, Seeker.” They all looked warily at him, like he was insane. Solas was unsurprised, but cautious. Blood magic could be a powerful tool, so long as it didn’t become a crutch. 

“ _Where the heck have you been, seth’lin?!_ ” Nehnlin called at the woman as Banal tried to calm the now twitchy companions. She blinked, the blood falling to the floor. She swooned slightly. A black-eyed man caught her and gently sat her on the ground, looking over her. 

“ _Oh ir abelas, next time I’ll just let those bastards into the Inner Sanctum!_ ” She hissed, gripping her pounding head. Her hands shook horribly. The man beside her healed her as best he could. Her wounds wouldn’t properly heal due to the blood magic, but he could at least stop the bleeding. “ _Where the hell were you, N’lin?_ ” 

“ _Well someone had to stop more from coming inside!_ ” Nehnlin’s eyes, despite it sounding like he was yelling at her, were smiling. The idiot blood mage was still alive at least. He had lost too much of his Clan to begin with. 

“ _Glad to see you two didn’t change,_ ” Banal scoffed as he walked to Samahlnan. She smiled pleasantly as always. 

“ _Whatever do you mean, my lord?_ ” She chuckled weakly. Lotus let out a long sigh, falling back on his ass. His head pulsed painfully behind his eyes. His magic moved like it was stuck in a tar pit. Beyond that, it was worn down. His mind flashed images of the dying. His hands felt a thousand times heavier from the amount of blood caked on them. 

“ _Here_ ” Banal’s voice broke through the man’s haze. He held out a bottle of lyrium to help bring color back into the Lotusmaker’s face. The blond snorted as he took it. 

“ _I’d prefer whiskey if you got it._ ” 

“ _Can’t help you there, lethallin_ ” Banal chuckled. He waited for the former drug dealer to drink the potion. He made a disgusted face, gagging as he swallowed it. Banal looked around, finding a certain white haired man missing. “ _Where’s Soralan?_ ” 

“ _He and Irenna went to help fortify the east side._ ” Sama explained as she stayed crouched near the physician. He looked worse than she did, and she used blood magic. 

“ _How bad is it?_ ” Banal asked though he was pretty sure he knew. The doctor looked up at him. Two black mirrors reflected everything back as he ran a hand through his curly blond hair. 

“ _Half of us are either dead or didn’t wake up. Another third is injured._ ” Lotus pinched the bridge of his nose, “ _so that leaves maybe a sixth of us still able to fight._ ” Banal winced at the numbers. 

“ _We’ve lost that many?_ ” Arvaan asked bewildered. He looked around at the bodies. He hoped they had taken out at least twice as many enemies then. 

“ _Most were lost in the first wave when they forced the entrance open_.” 

“ _When was that?_ ” Solas asked. Lotus’s eyes flickered over to him. A bright and sharp intelligence dwelled inside those dark eyes, but they were also distant. His hands were practically stained red. 

“ _They started the siege maybe a week ago. I’d woke up maybe a week before that. Tried to get others awake too, but they apparently wanted their beauty sleep._ ” Lotus shrugged. 

Banal and Solas shared a look. It had taken them maybe two weeks to get here. And yet the attack didn’t start until now? Banal furrowed his eyebrows. Nehnlin had said he had woken up at the explosion…so what was that vision…A demon playing him. He snarled. Of course. The demon got inside his head and picked out something that would get him to come here… 

“ _Did you see the person leading this?_ ” He asked quickly. 

“ _Aye. Got a short look at him when I snuck out to look around. Older guy, looks sick, wears that kind of armor,_ ” Lotus pointed to one of the Red Templars. “ _Haven’t seen him inside though._ ” 

They all looked at each other. Things didn’t look good. This was their home and they’d die protecting it, sure. But what if only some of them died? And the others lived? They had found their places here, found strength here… 

Nehnlin couldn’t take losing another Clan again. He had lost his family twice and didn’t want to go through it again. He could still remember holding his baby brother’s mouth closed, pinching his nose, waiting for him to stop moving. He didn’t want to have to mercy kill any more of his family. 

Sulahn’mi saw flashes of her brother’s body hanging in the rafters. She remembered watching Arvaan sob over his final note. A note he kept in his pocket all the time. Cvenna thought of her grandmother, holding her hand as she and her sister waited for her to take her final breath. She watched slowly as everyone she knew died, afraid that one day her sister would be gone too. 

Lotus could remember every soldier’s face he couldn’t save. He remembered his brother being hacked to death and not being able to save him. Samahlnan saw her father beat her mother again. She saw her mother cough up blood and remembered she wasn’t there when she died. 

Banal saw it on their faces. They thought back to times when they were powerless. Weak. A time when they were alone and helpless. And that angered him. He did not offer these people a place for them to become grim and fatalistic. For them to curl up and die. To choke. He gave them a place. Like hell he was going to let them just give up and throw his gifts away. He worked too damn hard to push them to where they are now. 

“ _Since when is it allowed to think defeat is an option?_ ” Banal asked. His tone was very authoritative. The non-elven-speaking members knew that tone meant he was doing his version of a pep talk. He only used that tone when speaking to people who said he couldn’t. 

His elves looked at him, snapping out of their memories. “ _We are not giving up, just…_ ” Sama started, pushing her black bangs behind her ear. 

“ _We aren’t you, sir. We don’t have your knack for surviving._ ” Arvaan finished. Banal snorted. 

“ _How many battles have you fought and survived, Vaan? Cvenna? Lotus? Da’mi, Sama, N’lin you all survived fighting a dragon. The way I see it, we are all here are we not? Doesn’t that mean we all have a knack for survival? Don’t tell me you are going to let a bunch of shemlen, people whose lives are gone in a blink of an eye, kill you now._ ” 

Banal watched them all shift as they thought. Lotus scratched the back of his neck. He was the first one to speak. “ _No way I’m dying sober._ ” Sulahn’mi snorted as she started to laugh, making her eyes go wide, her cheeks blush, and her hands hurry to cover her face. Which just got the rest to laugh as well. 

“ _So I hope you have a plan, my lord._ ” Sama calmed her laughter into just mild giggles. 

Banal looked back the way they had come before looking at the doors. There were no enemies further in, not that there was much further in. Those doors lead to the Throne Room, the Inner Sanctum. Trying to eradicate the forces inside would end up in their extermination. They were caught off guard so there was little chance of gaining an advantage. But… 

“ _Find high ground and let the enemy come to you…_ ” Banal recited an old general’s saying. He looked back to everyone with a smirk on his face. “ _Call everyone back to the Inner Sanctum. They want this Temple so badly, they’ll have face all of us at once._ ” 

Nehnlin saluted before he vanished in a puff of black magic smoke. Arvaan nodded before he went off to sound the call as well. Lotus got to his feet. This battle was going to cost them and he’d best get ready to try and lower that cost. 

Banal turned to the rest. “We’ll wait in the Inner Sanctum. Draw out whoever thinks themselves powerful enough to invade this place.” He didn’t give them time to question before he was disappearing into the darkness beyond the doors. 

“Anyone else wondering what the hell is going on and wants an answer soon?” Varric asked as they followed Sulahn’mi through the doors. 

“I think that’s a unanimous vote, Varric.” Dorian quipped. If the they thought the Inquisition couldn’t get any more weird, they were dead wrong. 

***** 

The hallway opened up into what felt like a vast cavern. Felt because none of them could see an inch in front of their faces. But the way the sounds echoed, how it felt like nothing was above their heads told them it was a large room. 

Then Veilfire sprung to light all around the room. Big braziers lit up as Banal swaggered passed them. He sauntered up the steps to an ornate throne where he sat and looked down at them. His body language said this was his castle, his place, his throne. Here he was King. 

“ _It is good to have him back._ ” Samahlnan laughed as she walked to her place at his right side. The mortals were more concerned about the fact that the walls were made from bones. And that there were two miniature rivers of blood flanking either side of the throne. What was this place? 

“We may wait awhile, you know. So get comfortable.” Banal laughed darkly. He could see, feel how his companions looked at the walls, the floor with fear. They jumped when the sentinels emerged from the shadowy alcoves. The ancients smirked, blackening lips flashing blackening and bloodstained teeth. Even Solas winced at the sight of their sunken white eyes. Morrigan had seen enough Tainted people for her lifetime. Yet these people were not Tainted as she knew it. Similar, but not the same. 

“Yes because this is such a homey place.” Dorian grumbled. It reminded him of the Dark Future really. Or perhaps a few soirees he attended back home. Banal chuckled. 

“They don’t bite. Unless someone tells them to.” 

“That just makes me feel all warm and safe inside.” Dorian stopped beside Banal to snort. 

Sulahn’mi, who had disappeared, reappeared with an old spear in her hands. She knelt before Banal and offered it to him. “ _Welcome home, my lord._ ” He smiled as he took the old thing before she took her spot on his left side. The shaft was black with tarnish, edges of the spearhead as well. The griffon that connected the two had spots of rust. Bits of the wings had broken off, but the thing was still sturdy and still deadly sharp. 

Solas remembered that spear, though it seemed Banal did not. It was a gift from Elgar’nan for the Shadow’s appointment to be his…There wasn’t really a good human term for it. Banal was like the royally appointed assassin with duties similar to a bodyguard as well. He was the instrument of Elgar’nan’s vengeance, his Shadow. 

“So, Smiley…uh, you seem to know all these people…” Varric started, interrupting Solas’s thoughts. This place was creepy as hell, the sentinels were creepy as hell, everything was creepy as hell. Plus, the big question everyone was wondering: how did Banal know all these people? Not that he believed these were actual elves from Arlathan or anything… 

Banal turned his head to the dwarf, lazily. He seemed to contemplate his answer for a moment. “Yes. You could say these people are the closest thing I have to family.” Banal looked around at everyone. It was odd to feel that way towards his subordinates. Especially when they backtalked and defied nearly everything. They were stubborn and foolhardily loyal though. He laughed to himself. “They are idiots. But they are my idiots.” 

“What exactly is this place?” Blackwall asked. Now that they were all catching their breath, they wanted answers. Like did these elves really just live here, so far from civilization that they didn’t know what humans looked like? 

Morrigan studied a few of the statues, the thrones finding each one unique. The walls had not decayed, yet the skulls were ancient. Magic hummed all around, the Veil very thin as though it was never touched by the modern day Veil. 

“A throne room, Warden. I’d think that obvious.” Banal stated drily. 

“For who though?” Cassandra asked. The other elves were chatting amongst themselves. Their eyes darted over to her, Bull, Varric, Morrigan, practically anyone who wasn’t an elf, they gave questioning gazes. Especially Bull. 

Solas and Banal looked at each other for a moment. Like they were telepathically figuring out a good lie for all this. Solas was the one who spoke. “I believe the Dalish would call them the Forgotten Ones. The enemies of their Creators.” 

“The ancient elves worshipped them and their gods?” That’d be like worshipping the Old Gods and the Maker. 

“In a way, yes. It was…” Banal stumbled trying to find a way to explain it without confusing and revealing too much. “It was like today really. Some people worship the Maker, others the Creators, or the Stone or the Qun. But the Forgotten Ones weren’t…gods persay, neither were the Creators…” 

“People worshipped mortal beings as gods then?” Morrigan asked, studying a particular statue. A tall, slender figure with a dragonling skull over its face stood tall near the doors. The skull was younger than the statue, which showed little wear to begin with. She noticed that all the statues had dragonling skulls over their faces. 

“They were not gods.” Lotus’s voice hissed from his spot on one of the steps. Everyone blinked, surprised another elf knew the common tongue. His black eyes glared at them, almost swallowing them. He kept wiping his hands with a cloth that was stained red. 

“I did not say they were, merely that they were worshipped as such.” 

“Nae.” 

“Creators thought themselves gods, Forgotten Ones did not, yes?” Sulahn’mi spoke slowly. Her knitted brow showed her concentration, but also her frustration. She tried hard not to notice their stares, but they crawled over her skin. That was all she could feel. She quickly hid her face as little chirps escaped her mouth. 

“Yet they built temples to these Forgotten Ones? I assume that’s what this is.” Morrigan looked towards Banal seated in the highest throne. 

“Some might have believed them gods, but they did not think themselves or the Creators gods. Royalty perhaps, but not gods. If you went through the Gauntlet, you would earn the right to communicate with one of them, whatever your reason.” Banal shrugged. 

“So there were more of these places?” Bull asked. He sure hoped not. He thought demons were messed up, these elves, who kept looking at him like he was an exotic dish, were far more fucked up. 

“Yes. You’d go to different ones for different things.” 

“Most of these places have been destroyed, it is remarkable this one remains intact.” Solas lied smoothly. Banal looked at him from the corner of his eyes which the Dread Wolf returned with a knowing glance. 

“And what might this place be for?” Dorian asked with a cocked eyebrow. 

“Vir Banal’ras.” Morrigan answered quietly. “The Path of Shadows.” When everyone turned to her with questioning looks, she glared. “There was an inscription near the first test. It said to walk the path of shadows--” 

“One must abandon all fears of death, all hopes of living, forsake the Light and embrace the Dark.” Banal interrupted. “There were more along the Gauntlet, but we bypassed those.” 

“Cheery place this is.” Dorian snorted. Were all elves that grim and fatalistic? Banal smiled up at him as he chuckled. 

“The Vir Banal’ras was not a path to be taken lightly. It was the path for assassins, of vengeance. You had to fear nothing, want nothing but the deaths of your enemies. Whatever your reason for walking this path, you did it to spite someone or something. Why do you think it was called the Path of Shadows and not the Path of Shits and Giggles?” 

They looked over at Sulahn’mi. She didn’t seem like she would hate anyone enough to walk such a path. She was a skilled fighter sure, but a ruthless murderer? Cvenna was another one that didn’t seem the type. Lotus, they weren’t sure he could fight; he seemed to be a doctor more than anything. 

“Not all who walked the path wanted to kill someone. Like I said, you could walk the path in order to spite your enemies. If you survived the Gauntlet, you got the power to do just that.” Banal shrugged. Like undertaking a ritualistic path that may or may not kill you was commonplace. 

“And what? All the people who didn’t make it, they made into decoration?” Bull scoffed. 

“No.” Banal got that sad smile again as he looked at the walls. “Do not judge the place that you see now. It was once beautiful, but a great ritual took place here. One head for every one sacrificed…as a reminder of the price we all must pay for walking the path we choose.” 

“Ritual?” Cassandra turned to look at him, her brow furrowed. “As in a blood ritual?” He could see how the very thought of blood magic boiled her own blood. She had been trained very well it seemed. Pity. 

“Blood magic is a tool, Cassandra, a weapon to be used just as you use your sword.” 

“My sword cannot control other people’s minds, Inquisitor.” She growled. 

“No, not in the way you mean.” Banal rested his chin on his hand as he gazed down at her. “There are, however, certain situations that controlling the other person would serve the greater good. For example, a hostage situation. You could try to storm them, and hope they don’t slit an innocent child’s throat. Or you can make them drop the sword, and step away from the child. And then make their brain hemorrhage.” Banal shrugged. “So it’s a game of would you rather. Would you rather risk a child’s life trying to save them or slit your wrist and guarantee their safety?” 

“There is no guarantee that you would not endanger the child further; what if the demon you summoned—“ 

“Demons are drawn to power, yes. But you do not summon one for trite things like body control.” Banal sighed. He hated debating philosophies with her kind of people. Stuck in their own ways, not willing to see another side. Like they feared seeing the other side would make them lose faith. What was it that Mother Giselle told him after Haven? Without doubt, faith would be meaningless? Or something like that? 

Stopping further conversation, Nehnlin suddenly appeared next to Samahlnan, startling everyone. He laughed at the humans grabbing their hearts before turning to his master. “ _The order has been given. Most of the forces will gather outside this chamber, but they’ve told to let the enemy pass._ ” 

“ _Very good._ ” Banal nodded and settled back to wait for whoever thought themselves so important. He vaguely felt Morrigan approach the eluvian behind his throne. A faint itch in the back of his head. “I would not touch that if I were you, Crow.” 

The witch snorted at his warning. “Nor would I sit so near it, Inquisitor. It is Tainted beyond use.” She doubted it could turn on without shattering. Such was the fate of many of the mirrors. 

“To you perhaps.” Was all the Inquisitor had to say about it. 

***** 

It didn’t take long for more of the elves to show up. Apparently elves were very diverse. There were a few that were as tall as Blackwall or taller. Some were short like their successors. Every color of the rainbow eyes glinted and flashed in the light. A lot of them didn’t have any weapons, but whether from the way they walked or the amount of blood covering them, it was obvious they were skilled fighters. 

Many of them lounged around on the steps or the broken thrones. Some huddled together, whispering as they watched Banal’s Inner Circle. Including the three that stayed around Banal. They kept glancing over at Bull, chatting amongst themselves before Nehnlin, in typical Nehnlin-fashion, shouted across the room at the Qunari in elven. 

“Uh…Boss, mind telling me what I did to piss of the guardian?” He shifted uncomfortably. Banal laughed. 

“They are merely wondering what you are. You have horns like a dragon, are as big as a bull, and yet you have pointed ears. You are an oddity for them, Bull.” 

“They’ve never seen a Qunari before? What they’ve been living in this place for the last four hundred years?” 

“Yes.” Either the group believed these were ancient elves that Banal somehow knew, or that they were descendants of an isolated group of elves that lived in this temple. Either way would work he supposed. Neither compromised his true self. He could say this beings had found him when he was young, or he was born into the group. Quite simple. 

Banal looked around him. So few of them were left. He knew every person underneath him, some in more ways than one. Yariel, older brother of Arvaan and leader of a mercenary group, was a surprisingly good dancer in a ballroom, in a battle, and in a bedroom. The Twins, Irenna and Cvenna shared everything including lovers and enemies. Sethon, a merchant from the east, was skilled with his tongue. Liaya was a hunter, shown by her vallaslin, who savored the anticipation of a release. 

But there were others that he remembered for other reasons too. Brilwyn had been with him all her life. She had never seen the sky before, or felt the rain. She only knew sunlight as what filtered through cracks. Her father Harros was young when he was given her and told she was his fault, his mistake. Divera loved to cook; she owned a tavern with her husband once. But then the bandits and rowdy soldiers came and took it all away. Even now she would touch the burn on her cheek and anger mixed with grief would flash behind her eyes. 

Still for every person he saw, he could name three more that were not here. Jeagan the mercenary that loved riddles, Nesivra the lute player who could not sing, Lelaros the beggar with the lazy eye that had about as many good jokes as he had teeth (which wasn’t a lot), and many others. They were just gone. 

Regret hit his heart as sharp as any dagger. He knew they gave their lives willingly, they would all die so that he would live. But seeing it happen? It was a foreign feeling he wished to be rid of. 

Thankfully, he had an outlet for the anger and all-around-stupid-feelings swirling inside of him. The doors to the chamber swung open to Red Templars. They flanked a man some of them knew. 

“Lord Seeker?” Cassandra gasped as he marched in. No. He wouldn’t be working for Corypheus. He couldn’t have allowed the Templars to be corrupted! This…she couldn’t even think of a reasonable explanation. 

“About time you showed, shemlen.” Banal growled. “Or should I even call you that?” The Lord Seeker walked to the base of the steps and stopped, with an insufferable smile on his face. 

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come, Inquisitor.” Lucius chuckled. “We were getting bored.” Many of the elves hissed, or drew their weapons. Magic sung around them, threatening without them moving a muscle. Banal rose a hand to calm them. 

“I’d suggest running the Gauntlet if you were that bored, then. It’d be interesting to see if you survive.” Banal rested his head against his hand as he gazed down on the human. “So you’ve utterly destroyed this place. For what purpose? The eluvians?” 

Lucius laughed. “Hardly, though the Elder One will be pleased with that development.” 

“Then what?” He barked. The darkness that irritated the Temple’s magic stood before him. His skin crawled, his magic burned inside his veins. The Anchor flared up slightly as well. 

“You.” 

“What?” Blackwall asked. All of them looked at each other. Banal merely cocked his head to the side. He knew that was the case. The question was why did this demon want him? Not that he wasn’t an attractive piece of mage ass that any demon would be happy to have. 

“You are quite difficult to get a message to, Inquisitor. We’ve had to employ some unconventional methods to get even the small amount of information we have.” That made their blood run cold. Did Corypheus know where they were? 

“Enough, shemlen. Was your sole purpose to come here and bore me because so far that is all you are doing.” Banal rolled his eyes. 

“I came to deliver a message to you. The Elder One knows what you are, or well,” the Lord Seeker looked around mockingly, “what you were.” Banal ran his tongue over his teeth, trying not to flay the man right there. 

“I assume you have a point to all this? Because right now, you’re just lowering your chances of being recognizable after I’m done with you.” 

“He wishes to extend an offer to you, Shadow of the Elvhenan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I'm just going to leave this here and calmly walk away...
> 
> If you noticed, Sula and N'lin have different armors in this one. For a visual clicky [here for Nehnlin](http://nolifequeen1663.deviantart.com/art/DA-I-Nehnlin-Dragon-Armor-533991447) (ignore the bow though...I have yet to design it...) and [here for Sula](http://nolifequeen1663.deviantart.com/art/DA-I-Sulahn-mi-The-Champion-Seeker-538800377)
> 
> Technically this one and the next chapter should've been one chapter, but this one was already so freakin long and I was dying so I decided to cut it. Next chapter will be shorter a lot shorter. I'll try to get the next one up quickly...hang in there please. I swear I'll get the next one and the one after that out soon (because it's a lot of cliffhangers to leave you guys with...). I hope within this week like I did last time. After that...well I'm in freefall because I only planned these chapters, the Nightmare demon, and the Temple of Mythal so...I have no idea what I'm doing next! And sadly I will not be able to do The Descent or the Trespasser DLCs because I have an Xbox360...until I get a new computer that can handle DAI)
> 
> Also some of this chapter is unclear, so if you don't understand please tell me that I may clarify (either by rewriting parts or explaining...) that goes for anything in the story. Sometimes my mind creates weird connections no one else does...


	22. Envy and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What offer does Corypheus have for Banal? More importantly, why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Name: The Chapter In Which I Kill Like 90% Of My Characters...
> 
> Question!! We are getting pretty far along in this story and I've yet to decide on a good pet name for Dorian. Ma vhenin/vhenan does not work because Banal's heart is Vhena. Emma Lath was Falon'Din's. So I'm literally trying to think of something but I suck at cute things. The most I got is Ma Atishan or my place of peace or something else similar...for obvious reasons...Suggestions welcome as are suggestions for things you'd like to see in coming chapters (cause I'm stumped.
> 
> Warning: Dark themes (like I don't find any of this disturbing, but I wrote it so I'm immune, but there might be some one out there that may find this chapter unsettling so...) You've been warned.

“He wishes to extend an offer to you, Shadow of the Elvhenan,” hung in the air like cheap perfume. Everyone looked at each other (save the elves, they were stoic). Corypheus had to be pulling their legs, right? Why would he want the Inquisitor to or even think the Inquisitor would join him? 

Some nearly started laughing at the absurdity of this. Others became uneasy. Like Solas. He knew the Forgotten One would take any offer of power for himself. He had done it many times… 

“This I have to hear.” Banal laughed, moving to lean against his knees. He had not been called by that title in eons. He knew it was to stroke his pride (and that it worked). The Lord Seeker smiled like that was as good as agreeing to this deal. 

“It is very apparent that you aren’t what you seem, Inquisitor. You peaked the Elder One’s curiosity. He demanded answers. It took quite a bit of digging through Elven history to find even the smallest detail about you.” 

“I do not wish to know how you got these details…” Banal frowned, guessing a few Dalish would be missing or killed. And probably quite a few scholars too. 

“It seems you and the Elder One are far more similar than you are different. Led astray by supposed gods, you fought and were punished for your service only to rise and champion for yourself to give people the proper god—“ 

“I am no god.” Banal’s voice was quiet, but it seemed to make the very air heavy. It was the sound equivalent to flowers blooming in darkness really. It made no sense. It was quiet, as though he did not make a sound, but carried such weight as to make a sound. 

“Demi-god then. Compared to the average mortal would you not agree that you are far more than they ever could be?” Lucius smiled knowingly. Everyone’s skin was crawling. They didn’t like what they were hearing. Not that they believed any of it. There was no way Banal was some sort of demi-god. Powerful yes. But a god (demi or not)? No possible way. 

“Call me what you wish, I’ve yet to hear anything of this offer.” Banal hissed in a calm tone. 

“My apologizes, Your Worship.” He bowed mockingly almost. “Corypheus sees, as you surely will as well, the benefits of an alliance.” He paused to listen to a few of the Inner Circle gasping. 

Banal, however, smirked like he enjoyed the idea. He could see how such an alliance could work. He gained the entire Venatori and Red Templars as well as an ancient magister who would otherwise try to kill him countless times. Spreading red lyrium throughout the world could effectively break any resistance, not to mention dragon attacks. If Corypheus did indeed have the Grey Wardens, everyone would be forced to rely on them should another Blight occur… 

And Corypheus gained a walking archive of spells, history, and power. As well as a means to walk in the Fade. 

“And what are the terms of this alliance?” Banal replied coolly. He could feel the shock that radiated through the room. How could he even consider this? Betrayal stabbed his companions through the chests. Who had they trusted? 

Beyond that, they were frightened. If Banal did ally himself with Corypheus, that left the Inquisition headless. It would destroy morale. No matter the alliances they had forged, they could not win without the Inquisitor. He was the bonding force of it all. He gave them hope they could win against these odds. But if he suddenly switched sides… 

“It is an alliance, Your Worship. An even trade.” 

Banal dismissed his words with a wave of his hand. “I’m not interested in vague promises. Specifics, Lord Seeker.” 

“You help Corypheus breach the Fade as only your kind knows how and you are free to do whatever you wish here in the physical world. You’ll be the physical expression of a god, the whole world under your command.” 

It sounded like a sweet deal. He would gain pure power merely for helping a shemlen conquer the Fade. He’d gain fear and hatred he could use to control everyone. Little effort for a large gain. 

Banal stood up, looking down at the Lord Seeker. He kept his face emotionless as the Lord Seeker extended a hand. He felt everyone’s eyes on him. They feared he would take the deal. It was a deal that achieved his goals quickly after all. 

Slowly he began to descend the stairs, never once leaving the Lord Seeker’s eyes. “Inquisitor?” Cassandra stepped forward, disbelief and fear in her voice. His spear hitting the stones was his only answer. 

“Shit…” Varric muttered under his breath as Banal stopped in front of the human. This was it. Their worst nightmare come to life. Corypheus and Banal, two insanely powerful beings joining forces to take over the world. And they had little doubt Banal could do just that. All he had to do was murder all witnesses to this deal and no one would know he was an agent of Corypheus. He could twist everyone into fighting for the Venatori, corrupt the Inquisition’s Templars, turn diplomats into allying with Tevinter. 

What’s worse, is they didn’t think anyone would think twice. They had witness Banal end a civil war with only a handful of scandalous secrets and three witnesses. He got three enemies to call a truce as though it was child’s play. 

They held their breath watching the Inquisitor look down at that hand that would guarantee everyone’s death. Solas looked at the other elves. They were expressionless. Still they did not question the Forgotten One. How far had they fallen? 

For a moment, time stood still. Banal rose his hand not holding that spear. 

He smacked Lucius’s hand away. His chin rose higher, angry eyes glaring at the human. “You come to **my** temple, kill **my** people and this is the best you can do?” The Temple shook, literally shook around them as Banal’s voice grew into that demonic general tone. They couldn’t see his eyes, but his back was stiff, body shaking. Black started to wisp off him. 

“Promises for me to become an **aspect** of **a** god? You mean I’ll be Corypheus’s dog, his Shadow.” That thought repulsed him the most. It was like ripping open an old wound and rubbing salt, though Banal couldn’t ever remember having such a wound. “You either overestimated your selling skills, or underestimated my pride.” Banal would never allow another person to be above him. He would accomplish his goals without anyone’s help. “I don’t know which is a greater offense.” 

Everyone blinked at the amount of fury his voice had. He wasn’t yelling or really growling. But you could tell by his tone that he was pissed. More pissed than he was dealing with the Future Alexius. 

“I’d tell you to give Corypheus a message,” Banal’s face remained neutral, “but you won’t be leaving here.” 

What was the oddest thing was that the Lord Seeker didn’t flinch. He wasn’t frightened though the air itself seemed to press around them. He laughed. As though it amused him that Banal refused. “Your consent is not required, Shadow.” Banal furrowed his eyebrows just before the human lunged. Banal began to raise his spear. A hand tightened around his throat. Something ripped through the Anchor and into his head. 

The world faded as he was dragged into his own mind. 

***** 

Banal blinked against the fog. He was in a gray area. There was no floor, no ceiling. Just gray and fog. 

He was inside his own head. Banal snorted. A true nightmare indeed if there was nothing here. A flickering light caught his attention. It was a faint blue against the gloom. Cautiously, not knowing where that damn demon was, he approached it. 

What he found wasn’t what he expected. It was just a solid wall of light. It shimmered here and there. Tiny cracks were showing around its surface, but otherwise it was unremarkable. 

“Huh…” Banal quipped, “Never knew I had one of these…” His voice echoed around the empty space. You’d think he’d be able to see through the magic wall, but he couldn’t. He reached out to see if it was a barrier or just some illusion. The magic conformed to his hand like a second skin, but it did not break. He knew this magic; it had a familiar feel to it. But it wasn’t his. 

He cocked an eyebrow. So he had some weird magic wall inside his head that he couldn’t get through? Marvelous. Chalk up another under ‘other weird shit he didn’t know about himself’. Banal shook his head as he looked at a crack. Carefully he picked at it. 

Flakes fluttered to the ground, disappearing like snowflakes. It felt weird. He was inside his head, but he could feel it each time he scratched at the wall. Like someone was scratching his brain. 

Once he could stand the feeling no more, he peeked through the tiny hole. Images fluttered behind it. A calico cat caught in a tree, a black Hart lying in the dirt, a room filled with silk rugs and pillows, a woman with pure white hair and dusk colored eyes…all these images flitted pass the hole. None had a place. 

Then came faint sounds. Children laughing, an old nursery rhyme, a war song…He couldn’t place any of them. Yet he could? Faint ringing started behind his ears, growing in intensity until Banal thought his ears would bleed. He covered his ears against the noise. He screamed hoping to drown it out. 

The wall shimmered and shook, lights falling off it. They wrapped around each other until they formed a figure. Banal had to squint to look at it. It was taller than he was by a few inches, a bit larger as well. Clearly a spirit imitating a male elf. Vaguely Banal felt that he knew this spirit, but couldn’t chase down the thoughts. 

“ _Leave_.” The spirit said in perfect elven. Its voice was sad, wavering. 

“ _Ir abelas, but you’re the one in my head, not the other way around_.” Banal spoke through gritted teeth. The ringing slowly died down the further Banal went from the wall. 

He could have sworn the spirit laughed at him. And that he knew that voice. “ _Still with a wicked tongue_.” It whispered to itself. Then it stood straighter. “ _The demon awaits you further ahead. It calls itself Envy. I suggest you defeat it before it finds you here_.” 

Banal cocked his head. This Envy couldn’t see him here? 

“ _No it cannot. I keep it and all others at bay_.” 

“ _ **All** others? What about me?_ ” Banal cocked an eyebrow. He didn’t understand how this…spirit…thing could be here. He didn’t recall having it before. You’d think he’d know if he was possessed. 

The spirit chuckled, “ _This is your head. And last I checked you go where you please_.” 

Now Banal knew he had heard this voice somewhere, had someone say that to him before. But for the life of him, he couldn’t place it. It was driving him wild. “ _Who are you? What are you?_ ” 

“ _Leave, vhenin_.” A gentle magic washed over him, sliding him backwards or was it pushing it and the wall backwards? Either way, Banal watched as the spirit and the wall faded into the distance. He shivered against the almost pleasant tingle the magic left him. 

Odd, was the only thing he could think of to describe this. 

“I suppose I’ve kept ‘Envy’ waiting long enough…” Banal sighed before beginning to walk aimlessly inside his mind. He imagined himself getting closer to Envy, each step pulled the demon closer. Soon the landscape changed. 

There was a floor now, columns, petrified people alight with green fire…And soon the war table appeared. The Chantry war table. Banal looked around absently as he spied Josephine and Cullen before him, stiff as statues. 

“Is this form useful? Will it let me know you?” Came Leliana’s voice, but with a demonic undertone. She stepped out of seemingly nothing wearing a smirk. Ah of course, envy demons can’t steal your face unless they know about you… They have to mind fuck you first. It was the only polite thing to do before you steal someone’s life and identity, after all. 

“Envy I presume?” Banal leaned against the war table, nonchalantly. His head, his rules. 

Leliana smiled, “Calm even in the face of a stronger opponent? Such false bravado will do little here.” Banal’s snort interrupted her, “Everything here tells me about you.” She walked behind Cullen with a knife drawn. “As will this.” 

Banal barely flinched as she drew an angry red line across the Commander’s throat. “Aw, now he’s staining the floor.” Banal rolled his eyes. If it was trying to disturb him, it’d have to try much harder. 

“Aw, now he’s staining the floor.” Leliana’s voice changed as though a demonic mocking voice of Banal’s, accent and all. Well that’s just rude and annoying. She laughed before disappearing behind a pillar. 

Then Josephine began to move. She laughed, “Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker.” 

“Of that I have no doubt. At least you’ll get to experience sex for the first time, demon.” Banal grumbled as she walked passed him. He turned around, but she was nowhere to be seen. 

“Do you know what the Inquisition can become?” someone whispered in his ear. He felt the hot breath and had to force himself not to gag. “When I’m done, the Elder One will kill you, and then I get to be you.” 

“Oh so Corypheus plans to kill me inside my own head and then you get to walk around as me, good to know.” Banal chuckled. “But by all means continue.” 

“You think you can win? The Elder One is more than you ever were, Shadow.” 

“Ouch, wound my pride.” Banal rolled his eyes. Yes, yes he’s so much better than the Inquisitor who could walk in the Fade before he was seven. 

“Glory is coming and the Elder One wants you to serve him—“ 

“I bow to no one.” Banal interrupted. “I will give you nothing. You’ll pay for my silence and I will scream. You’ll beg for me to speak and I’ll cut out my own tongue.” 

Josephine reappeared and laughed at him. “You’ll serve the Elder One in the end. You just have to die in the right way.” 

“Keep talking then.” His eyes were defiant, his tone haughty. This was his head. No one controlled him here. She smirked and disappeared as quickly as she had come. 

“I am not your toy. I am Envy and I will know you.” Cullen’s voice this time. Banal turned to see him standing over the war table. He was glaring, obviously offended by Banal’s holier-than-thou attitude. “Tell me, Shadow, tell me what you think.” Cullen stabbed a shadow clone of Banal. “Tell me what you feel.” Then he fell silent. 

Banal walked right up to the demon. “Very well, demon.” He pressed himself against this mock-Commander, smirking luridly. He leaned forward, putting his mouth next to the demon’s ear. “Let’s play.” 

***** 

Banal blinked as the scene changed again. He was back in Haven’s Chantry. He watched as Cassandra paced as she interrogated another shadow him. What was the point of showing him these things? He walked through a door to find the demon him talking with a few soldiers. 

“Our enemies have surrendered unconditionally.” One soldier reported. 

“The Inquisition’s strength rivals any kingdom in Thedas.” The other chimed in. 

“Our reach begins to match my ambition—but we will strive for more.” The demon Banal stated. Did he really sound like that? Certainly he couldn’t sound that annoying…could he? It was strange hearing his voice as an outsider. After hearing other people talk for so long, his accent…well it was very pronounced and foreign, a bit trying to understand given the demonic undertone… 

Banal shook his head from his thoughts. “Your ambition?” He snorted as he said it, “What ambition? If this is the best you can come up with, you’ll be a piss-poor me.” 

“Trying to cut me down with words? Is that the type of man you are?” Envy laughed before the figures disappeared in a puff of smoke. Fire started to rain down from rotating pillars. Banal lazily walked forward as though on a stroll. A mere thought changed the fire to water. Each step changed the stone to soft grass that spread behind him. Were he to look back he’d see his marsh once more blooming bright. 

Bodies upon bodies were here. A lot of red lyrium as well. Not the design scheme he would’ve went with when redecorating Haven, but he supposed it was better than its current state: ashes and rubble buried in the snow. 

“Do you see how glorious my inquisition will be—“ 

“You aren’t making this game very interesting, demon.” Banal laughed. Without any care in the world, he opened another door while the demon growled. 

The scene changed to the war room. A shadow Banal was impaled on the table, blood spreading around Thedas. “Betrayed allies will curse your name. Like the first Inquisition, you will bring blood and ruin and fear!” 

“That was the plan.” Banal laughed. “Though if you were smart, you’d figure out how not to piss off your allies and make them the ones to bring ruin. Of course that’s assuming you have a brain.” He walked into the prison cells. 

Mother Giselle was being taken into custody under the orders of demon Banal. It made him smile when she was ordered to the gallows. She was a nosy busy-body that he just wanted to smack each time she called him the Herald. 

“Never did like her. Andraste this and Maker that. As though everything was a prophecy…” He sighed contently. “Again this isn’t new and exciting…” He paused to flash a smirk, “Toy.” 

He got a threatening growl in response. 

Casually he walked through the rooms, finding allies and red lyrium inside. Celene, Cassandra, Cullen…Dorian. For some reason seeing Dorian there did hurt. Or at least make his heart twitch. And when the Altus spat his name while pleading to be released, it twitched again. How very odd… 

His eyes fell upon a wall sconce near one of the demon soldiers. A flick of his wrist, and Veilfire sprung to life. The demon growled and ran from the room, leaving Dorian be. Banal watched him a moment more before proceeding to the other rooms to do the same. 

Eventually Banal lit the final one, walking passed Josephine and through another door. He was growing tired of this farce. If the demon had nothing more interesting, Banal might as well… 

He was back in the Temple. Blood was everywhere. Bodies lay upon bodies in various stages of decay. Bugs crawled in and out of holes. Some mounds were nothing but a moving mass of maggots. 

His eyes found little fragments of familiarity. There...one such mound had a glimpse of orange hair. Not far from it, Nehnlin sat against the wall, a worm sticking out his right eye socket. 

Banal turned in circles, finding traces of everyone. Samahlnan lay dazed, a sunburst tattoo on her forehead as she just stared at the ceiling. Cockroaches made small sounds as they ate her alive. Soralan wasn’t far from her, or at least his head wasn’t far. He watched as Lotus drank something. He convulsed, foam coming from his lips as he seized. Then he was quiet. 

Banal wouldn’t admit it aloud, but his stomach twisted at this sight. “What is the point of this, toy?” He asked, swallowing bile. 

“You abandoned them to their fates, turned away and sealed the doors. They died hating you.” Sounded around him. “They died because of you.” 

Banal took a steadying breath. “As though they’d curl up and die without trying to hunt me down first.” He scoffed. With much more effort than it should have taken Banal turned from the scene and started to walk further in. He heard a laugh sound around him. 

“They did, but they were so certain you’d come back they stopped.” Echoed through the building as Banal walked into the Inner Sanctum. “They even sacrificed those who you held dear…” 

All else was drowned out by Banal’s heart and mind stopping. Curled in the center of the room was…Vhena. And An’nas. Slowly he walked towards them. Their bruised wrists still bled, blood still trickled out of their mouths. A massive glyph surrounded them, drawn in their blood. 

He had watched one of them die before. It was not easier the second time. Though logically he knew this was a trick, it still hurt seeing them bleed because of him. His eyes wandered a bit, finding An’nas’s hand still clenched around Tahon’s who had one of his swords through his heart. 

Pain made the anger that much more bitter. Parents weren’t supposed to outlive their children. Children weren’t supposed to suffer, to know death and hate. They were supposed to love and be loved. He knew he was a shitty father, possibly borderline abusive, but he wanted nothing more than to see them smile, though he’d never tell them that. 

Yet here they were. Dead. Bleeding. Again. 

Banal clenched his teeth. If the demon wanted to play this dirty, well Banal could play this dirty. He’d make demons fear him once again. He closed his eyes against the image before him and concentrated. 

He felt the darkness inside him blossom. He grabbed it and pushed it into his heart, if only not to feel anything. It strengthened it, hardened it, blackened it. He imagined every vile and awful thing he could think of. He remembered ripping a man’s jaw off for insulting him. He remembered war, death; he remembered being poisoned, being killed and the horrors of the Void. 

Every image and scream made the black pulse out strongly. He felt a bit of the white die away, imagined the white streak that was creeping passed his collarbone shrinking back. When he opened his eyes, the world begun to change. 

He crafted it to his needs. “You think far too small, toy.” He growled. The Temple gave way to a barren cliff. Banal sat upon his throne, looking down at the Envy demon pretending to be him. The sky wept, black clouds hiding the eerie red. Rivers of blood flowed all around. The Veil was gone, pieces of this world ripped away and dissolved. 

Demons shot down from the sky only to be torn to shreds by starving animals. Mortals and beasts alike. Elves, dwarves, humans, qunari all walked around with sunken eyes, sunken bellies and black hearts. Their mouths were stained black as they ate demon flesh. When a demon managed to kill one of them, they ate them too. Like wild dogs they ripped and tore, eating everything and leaving only bones and scraps for the murder of crows flying overhead. 

Envy looked around. If demons felt fear, Banal imagined they’d feel it watching this. Screams echoed through canyons only rivaled by laughter and wind. Fires filled the air with smoke, the scent of decay blowing along the breeze. 

“Behold the glory of **my** Inquisition.” Banal laughed. This was the reason why no darkspawn magister could compare to him. He didn’t seek to give people anything but ruin and death. He was put on a pedestal as an idol, sure, but all he sought was an end to this world. In the most bloody way possible. 

Banal stood from his throne. With a bored tone and a haughty smirk, he spoke, “Now I do believe you’ve overstayed your welcome in my head, toy.” His eyes flashed once as he gripped his spear tightly. The demon focused on him, hissing. It took a step towards him. Banal concentrated his power into a Mind Blast, but focused it into a deadly point. 

A point that shoved the demon out of his head. "Checkmate." 

***** 

No one understood what was happening. One moment the Lord Seeker grabs the Inquisitor’s throat and the next Banal lets out a focused Mind Blast that ripped away the Seeker’s skin and…revealed a demon…In that same moment, the sentinels appeared around the Templars and severed their heads. 

The demon bent backwards as it stood up. Apparently demons didn’t have joints. It screamed once as Banal rubbed his head. It deconstructed itself and zipped away into the other room. 

“Lord Seeker?” Cassandra asked hesitantly as she stepped forward. 

“No.” Banal stated bluntly. They could hear some of the elves mutter another word, their faces hardening like the word offended them. They knew what the demon was. That an Envy demon would try and take one of their faces? That pissed them off. 

“Twas an envy demon if I’m not mistaken.” Morrigan translated the elven hisses. 

“One that wanted my face.” Banal added, rolling his neck. 

“Oh Maker.” Cassandra’s mind was spinning. If that was just a demon wearing the Lord Seeker’s face, then… “Then the Lord Seeker…” 

“Dead probably.” Bull noted. 

“Probably not. Envy demons supposedly keep their victims alive.” Dorian piped in. They all just stared at the door where they could see a flicker of a barrier. “They also like to hide apparently.” 

“Envy, not a strong demon.” Sulahn’mi put in. “It observes, hides.” 

“Sula, you and Cassandra get that barrier down. The rest cover them; I doubt the demon is going just let us tear down its defenses without some trick.” Banal growled in the common tongue before repeating it in elven. The Seeker and the Champion nodded to each other before they followed the Inquisitor out. 

Morrigan was twitching with questions, but knew better than to ask. After all, she doubted a weak demon such as this could defeat the Lord Inquisitor. Not if what was said was true. 

She and the other mages stayed closer to the doors, on top of the stairs. Samahlnan was in the middle with Cvenna and Lotus on either side of her. Morrigan took a spot near one of the stairs up to their platform, Dorian took the other one. Solas would concentrate on crowd control and barriers. 

Soralan and Arvaan took up their spots at the bottom of the stairs, Irenna in between the two stairs. Sulahn’mi and Cassandra positioned themselves in front of the barrier. Varric found a shadowy corner out of the way while Nehnlin once again flew up to ledge. The others scattered themselves around the room. The sentinels stood statue still around the perimeter as though waiting for a sign. More set up a kind of a barricade around Sula and Cassandra. 

All was quiet for a time. 

Then the two started to crack the barrier. Red Templars and Venatori swarmed out of it. But no one moved. That gave the enemies pause. They looked around at this last ditch effort that did not attack them. They stepped to attack. 

Banal snapped his fingers. The spell broke and the perimeter sentinels unsheathed their swords. In that same graceful motion, they turned their swords on themselves. The more lucid of the enemies (and the companions) froze. They watched as the warriors plunged their blades through their stomachs. 

Samahlnan slit her wrists and pulled the blood from their bodies. She drained them. The blood swirled around her. In the next breath, the bodies began to fall forward. A sudden burst of power came from Banal. Lights, spirits swirled around him before he pushed them into the bodies. Glyphs and bindings lit up the sentinels as they caught themselves. 

With more grace than corpses should have, they pulled their swords out. Their eyes glowed an unearthly blue. Banal pushed more spirits into the other corpses though they wouldn’t have as much mobility as the fresh ones. A mere thought placed bindings around them as they rose. 

Suddenly their numbers doubled. And everyone hated necromancy. 

Samahlnan was the first to attack. She gathered the blood of her allies to heal her as she pulled magic from her blood. She took one calm breath before shooting a hand out. Venatori seized as their bodies were controlled. She planted thoughts in their heads, gave their bodies commands to attack their allies. 

That was when the battle began in earnest. 

To say that no one was disturbed (on either side) would be a lie. It was frightening that someone would willing kill themselves so their corpses could fight. It made sense to the elves of course. Their bodies were just flesh and blood. They felt pain. Pain could stop them from fighting. But corpses? You cut off one of their arms and they’ll still attack. Headless ones still attack. 

And the blood magic, well, they were outnumbered and needed some advantage. What was better than turning enemies into allies? Their inevitable deaths would help save at least one of them. Especially since when they die, they explode. 

They handled the waves of Templars and Venatori that came out of the barriers easy enough. Occasionally one got through the barricade and Nehnlin or Varric had to pepper the bastard. Or one of the two warrior women had to break concentration to deal with them. 

But other than that, the battle was relatively easy. 

It was the one that came afterwards that caused problems. 

The barrier broke and suddenly on top of the Templars and Venatori swarming, they had a demon. A huge spindly demon whose claws could take out two people at once. One that could phase through the fucking ground and burst up, knocking everyone back. And in such small quarters? The difficulty rose into the nightmare levels. 

At first, every one managed to stay in formation. Blackwall helped defend the mages, allowing Irenna to have a bit more flexibility. Bull went wherever he could hit something, though he wasn’t too happy about the demon. Cassandra and Sulahn’mi helped to keep Venatori mages on their asses. 

Then Envy started to shred through that formation. It screamed, forcing everyone around it down, allowing the enemy to slip through some of the defenses. It threw people aside or leapt up from the ground, scattering people. Archers helped some, but soon they had to contend with other archers shooting at them. They were forced from their hiding spots by glyphs and other magics. 

Morrigan, Solas, and Dorian tried their best to crowd control, but soon spent more time moving away from enemies than firing off spells. Lotus and Cvenna kept most of their focus on their blood mage, though would spare a few seconds to cloak people in barriers. Cvenna’s healing aura gave some reprieve for those who could get close to her. Lotus’s healing mist grenades also helped. 

But a lot of them couldn’t be helped. Huros, Liaya, Gethorn, and Shaenni died soon after the barrier broke. Envy backhanded Divera into the wall, snapping her spine. Some of the sentinels (dead or alive) soon also dropped out of the fight. 

It was chaos. 

They were getting overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Banal was in the middle of it all. He sliced and parried with ease, despite his body wanting to rest. His old spear was light in his hands. It doubled as a staff, cutting through the Veil swiftly to draw out fire that burned hotter, lightning that lasted longer, and ice that froze deeper. 

He barely noticed the Inner Sanctum’s doors opening again. He hazarded a glance spying two very familiar figures. But he couldn’t continue to watch them. He turned back to shoving his speartip through a Templar’s eye. 

Solas felt someone behind him and whirled. His staff struck a Shadow before he blasted it back. His eyes caught on the doors. A man and a woman stood their surveying the battle before they both decided to leap into it. The man sped towards him. 

Time stood still in that moment. That was a face Solas had thought to never see again, let alone here in this of all places. Chestnut hair fell into the golden eyes of a wolf as it zeroed in on its prey. The Dread Wolf’s symbols were still emblazoned on the man’s chest plate, his shoulder armor, his gauntlets. There was a few small scars on one corner of his jaw that weren’t there before, but it was still the same person. 

Then two katanas flicked out of their sheaths and time started once more, the man speeding pass. One was the purest white with halla leather handgrip, barely any sign of use on it. The other, blade jagged from the many battles it had seen and far more familiar to the Dread Wolf (he had commissioned it for him after all), shone green in the light. Crafted from Veil Quartz and Fade-touched wyvern scales, it was an incredibly expensive and deadly blade. Solas knew a small cut had the potential to poison its enemies. 

His mind spun as he watched the duelist leap around the battlefield. A Veilstrike here and Pull there. Subtle shifts to the Veil around him deflected projectiles or created illusions of his movements. Had they not been fighting for their lives against a demon, Solas would’ve been proud. At the moment however, there were far too many questions that needed answering. After they dealt with the demon of course. 

A lightning bolt striking near him, snapped him out of his thoughts. A Venatori seized to his left before he knocked them back with a stone fist. He scolded himself for that momentary lapse of focus. 

The fight was taking longer than it should. Most of their allies were tired, worn down after days of fighting or lack of sleep. Envy’s forces, however, were relentless. Maybe the red lyrium allowed them this energy, maybe they were just berserk. The only certain thing remained: the Inquisition and its new allies were being beaten. 

Banal knew this. He knew it in the back of his mind as he lodged his spear tip through someone’s neck. His muscles spasmed as they fought to keep him upright. His magic bit and tore at everything, fighting to recover all of itself. This was perhaps the longest he had fought in…who knows how many years. Either that or he really was getting old. 

He focused back on the demon, fury just helping to keep him strong. Throwing caution to the wind, he threw himself into the fray. He ducked, spun, and dodged around sparring people towards that stupid little demon. 

He stabbed the thing in the leg, drawing its attention. Envy screamed. The sound pulled at them, trying to force them down. Banal let out a Mind Blast to shatter it. Unfortunately that blast hit a few Templars who turned to him. 

He ducked a blade. The sword went into an ally’s shoulder. Banal swung his spear around, tripping the warriors. With a flick of his hand, two of them were sent flying. The other was impaled with his spear. 

Banal’s breaths came quickly as he tried to relocate the demon. This needed to end. The damn thing was allowing more Templars to come through some sort of barrier. At this rate they’d be overwhelmed. But kill the demon, destroy the barriers. His eyes scanned quickly. How hard was it to find a giant walking spindle stick? 

Pain flew up his right side. For a moment, he couldn’t understand what was happening. He flew sideways. His shoulder slammed into a column. His momentum made him spin around it and roll as he hit the ground like a rag doll. The world spun. 

His magic ripped at his wounds as he struggled to remain conscious. He felt warmth on his right side. He looked down. Blood flowed from gashes over his arm and across his back. His shoulder felt dislocated again. Everything became warm and fuzzy, slow like he was seeing everything through water. 

His eyes slid to the battlefield. He watched as Sulahn and Cassandra unleashed purges to combat the shields and barriers. Nehnlin grabbed Varric by the collar and dragged him further back just as a fire glyph decorated the area. Samahlnan’s body shook, her breathing becoming ragged as she cut another line across her chest. Sweat soaked Lotus’s hair as he and Cvenna fought to keep her and everyone else in fighting condition. 

They didn’t notice the Stalkers. Banal couldn’t call out a warning. His throat closed, his mind floated. He watched in a sort of despondent way as at the last moment Cvenna saw something and turned around. A moment too late. 

A sword ripped through her gut and out her back. Her face was shocked as she stared at the blood now dripping from her. She coughed. More blood ran out. The Stalker moved to take the blade away, but she gripped it firmly. She wasn’t a fighter. She didn’t know that many offensive spells, never had to. But she did have a twin. 

A murderous war cry shook the air around the Stalker. He turned just in time to see the glint of Irenna’s blade before she severed one of his arms. In a blood rage, she hacked away. The cuts were far from clean. The fire of her blade cauterized the wounds. One could not tell where Irenna’s yelling ended and the Venatori’s cries began. But then her blade severed his head. 

She couldn’t take time to hold her sister, she couldn’t think. Instead she rushed the other rogue Lotus stabbed in the eye. Sama feinted from blood loss. Another cry rang out. This time it was Soralan. He fell back against the wall, holding his sword arm. Blood dripped through his fingers from the severed limb. Arvaan blocked a blow for him. Fire lit around the Liar’s hand, stopping the bleeding. But he lost consciousness. 

This was hopeless, Banal thought absently. They were being slaughtered. Everyone he knew was dead or dying. The thought caused him more pain than his wounds. What good was he if he couldn’t even defend against a single demon with a small force? He couldn’t move. Even when that idiotic duelist, Tahon, took up a position in front of him, he couldn’t move or fight. 

Tahon glanced behind him once. His gold eyes were defiant, but frightened as they looked at Banal. Then he turned forwards again, rolling his wrists. He struck those who came close. A blade pierced through a Templar’s armor, the other slicing through his neck. A stonefist caved in a helmet, fusing flesh, metal and bone. Another head rolled. 

Tahon felt the ground become…funny. Like he was in quick sand. But right as he went to dodge, the gleam of an arrow caught his eye. Without thinking, he threw his blades up, deflecting the projectile. But in doing so, left himself open to the demon’s attack. 

In what felt like slow motion, claws dragged up his torso, spirit magic cutting him under his armor. The momentum of the demon jumping up tossed him up and blasted him back. His vision dimmed as his head cracked against the wall. 

An’nas’s face flashed behind his eyes as the world faded away. 

Banal briefly recalled saving him once before. Tahon was always wild and never thought things through, often at the cost of his health or safety. Much to An’nas’s worry and fury. An’nas would run himself ragged trying to keep the duelist healthy and whole. After he destroyed his family and taken a wooden beam to the gut was no exception. But An’nas was still learning healing spells… 

It was the first time since their argument that he had asked Banal for help… 

Just thinking about it sent anger through Banal’s veins. This was his home, where his children were born, where they died. It was broken down and corrupted, but it was still **his home**. These people, this hodge-podge group of people were the closest thing he had to family. They weren’t the smartest, the most powerful or even the most noble of people, but they were his. 

And he refused to give anyone the pleasure of taking more family away from him. 

His hand tightened around his spear, pulling it closer. He struggled to get to one knee, pain now shining everywhere. Anger made it bearable though. His magic snapped the air around him. But he was still weak. He needed to heal himself, to incinerate his enemies. He needed more. 

Magic could be felt in the stones, the floors and ceilings. It hummed there. It hummed in the crystals that lit up the room. All he had to do was reach out and grab it. He pulled and tugged until it became loose and flowed into him. 

The air became thick with magic. Like magic was replacing the air. It made moving hard, some even became paralyzed. The walls and floor trembled like the whole Temple was waking up. The crystals clattered as they shook. Some shattered. Dust caught in wisps that became to flutter around Banal. 

A black mass bled out from him like a black cloud. His body pulsed once, wounds healing shut. He picked himself off the ground as the cloud grew. Rocks and fragments of crystals hovered around him, suspended in time. 

Sulahn’mi grabbed Cassandra and tugged her towards the large doors. Lotus picked up Samahlnan. Arvaan helped the Liar to his feet before pulling Irenna away from her battle. Elven shouts sounded around them. 

“We should move. Now.” Solas hissed, backing up towards the Inner Sanctum. The other elves seemed to have the same idea. Nehnlin nearly choked Varric as he ran pass and grabbed the dwarf’s coat. They all apparently knew something the mortals didn’t. And seeing as it was getting harder and harder to breathe and move, the Inner Circle didn’t see any reason to doubt the elves. 

Once everyone was through the doors, Nehnlin and Sula shoved all their weight against the heavy doors. They creaked and scraped against the floors. Cassandra looked back just in time to see the Inquisitor disappear into the black magic. Then the doors clattered shut, sealing off all noise from the outside. 

Everyone panted heavily, looking around. Of the few that survived this long, there were maybe twelve of them left. The familiar sight of old faces was now just a memory. Irenna fell to her knees, the battle rage leaving her weak. Small broken sobs peeled out of her. Soralan slid down the wall, labored breaths were the only thing keeping him conscious. 

The Inner Circle watched as the elves slowly slumped their shoulders and sat down. It was the first time they saw how tired they must have been. More than that, the grief they had ignored flooded over them. 

Solas and Morrigan went to Lotus who was shaking Samahlnan gently awake. His magic felt dead inside him. But he could at least make her drink a potion. The humans shared a look before pulling out their few potions to give to the most wounded. The mages pulled out their lyrium potions. 

They didn’t know any of them, but they knew these people were as good as any army. They helped tend to wounds the best they could, all listening to the silence of the doors. A million questions swirled around them. Was Banal dead? Or was Envy? Did they both die? What was going on? Among other things. 

What they did know was they could still feel that thick magic cloud through the doors. The whole building felt it. Then suddenly it was gone. The stones settled into the normal oppressive silence. The crystals seemed brighter. 

Nehnlin and the Iron Bull looked at each other before they moved to the doors. Bull cracked one open enough for the rogue to slip through. “Banal!” made him open it all the way. 

The Inquisitor stood in the middle of the room, soaked in blood (whether it was his or his enemies or a combination they didn’t know). All around him were twisted corpses. Tiny wisps of what was Envy slowly faded. 

His body shook terribly as he fell to his hands and knees. His spear clattered as it hit the ground. He coughed. Blood dripped from his mouth. His vision became double as he stared at the red blood forming under him. Slowly he lifted his head and looked around at the dead. 

The others slowly came out from the room. It felt…calmer. The whole place felt like it had settled. Old magics hummed again. But that didn’t make the sight of so many dead easier to stomach. For a moment they wondered how the Inquisitor had killed so many, but then again they didn’t really want to know. 

Instead they ran to try and keep the man alive. 

But before they could, someone pushed passed them. Someone no one had seen before. 

“ _Papae!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just going to...hide in the corner and grieve all my dead babies... *sniff sniff*
> 
> The next chapter may or may not be out soon because it's giving me troubles, but this one has been done for a while so...
> 
> As for chapters I've got planned out, I've got the next one and the two after that. That gets me to the Western Approach section of Here Lies the Abyss. If I don't do a chapter between them, then I got the siege of Adamant planned...all the rest is in limbo until the Temple of Mythal which will be two chapters. 
> 
> I do have a few things in mind that I could do between Here Lies the Abyss and the Well of Sorrows, but I'd still like to hear from you all. Because maybe ya'll have a question that I don't ever touch on (if you've asked it before and I told you you'll get an answer, then I've got it planned btw) or you just really want to see how Banal would react to some situation or maybe you just want to get on with the story who knows? Mostly it's just to help me find some inspiration to get from point A to point B otherwise it'll end up getting really boring probably...
> 
> Oh and I'm trying my damnedest to finish Nehnlin's backstory (I'm horrible) but the amount of death in it is crushing my soul. But I need to finish it before I possibly maybe write Tahon's because (and this is just a hunch but) you all are probably like WHATTHEFUCK How does Solas know this man?!?!?!?!?!?


	23. Heart and Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What really happened to Banal's children?
> 
> Also some long overdue introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of the new characters ( some of which you were introduced to last chapter (including characters like Lotus and Arvaan, but excluding Sama, Sula, and N'lin) and others who you will officially meet shortly) who do you want to know their backstories? I know all 27 of them. And just curious as to which person(s) tickles your fancy, though please **only pick 2**. 
> 
> I'll write up maybe the **top three** (The top one for sure, possibly the second, not sure about the third depends on how much time the story takes) for The Dawn Will Come. 
> 
> If you can't comment here, you can send an ask/message to me on my [tumblr](http://aeantizlkamenwati.tumblr.com/)(Where I also do TMI Tuesdays for all my characters/myself and I really love talking). If you can't do tumblr but can do deviantart, I have [one of those too](http://aeantizlkamenwati.deviantart.com/)! If you can't do any of these, think really hard and maybe I'll get the message telepathically.

“ _Papae!_ ” shot a chill through Banal’s bones. He knew that voice…but he shouldn’t be hearing it. He heard people skid to a stop next to him, leather and metal scratching against the stones. Hands grabbed him and held him just as his mind left him. 

***** 

_”You’re asking me?” Banal bit back his laugh. He sat on his throne, looking down at the duelist. His head leaned against his knuckles. An amused smirk played around his lips. “I doubt An’nas cares for my opinion in this matter.”_

 _Tahon remained in his formal bow. The once prince and troublemaker was being incredibly…polite. He wore his full armor, his hair pulled back into a ponytail with two braids running along his skull. Banal knew he should take this far more seriously, but it was just too funny. And a first._

 _

“No matter how…strained your relationship is, he is still your son and I would have your blessings.” Tahon replied coolly. How quaint. How noble. How…odd. Suddenly Banal was reminded he had never had children live this long, thus never had to deal with…suitors… 

He found it strange. On the one hand, he was incredibly suspicious. What did this man gain? How would he try to use An’nas to manipulate Banal? Should he kill him now or wait for the fallout? Then there were foreign little thoughts like is this man even worth all this, An’nas included? 

On the other hand, he was a mixed between apathetic and happy. An’nas seemed to be…attached to this wild prince. Enough to call Banal for help after the duelist blew up Tarasyl’an and took a wooden beam to the stomach. Of course, Banal also had the feeling of ‘it’s about fucking time’. 

“Hmm…” Banal hummed as he contemplated the offer. “Never in my wildest dreams had I thought the Dread Wolf’s son would wish to marry mine…” 

Tahon looked up with a wry grin. “Adopted son, if that’s any consolation.” He chuckled. 

“Either way it will make for awkward family gatherings.” They both laughed at the image. Tahon had heard of in-laws hating each other, but he doubted it would be like this. 

“So may I?” The hopeful gold eyes bore into the Forgotten One. 

Banal sighed as though resigning himself. “Fine, go marry my son, adopt five children and ride into the sunset for all I care.” He gave a dismissive gesture with his free hand. Tahon straightened with his lopsided smile. 

“Ma serannas, but I hope you aren’t expecting grandchildren, my lord.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Fenedhis no. Now I just have to hope Vhena finds a nice woman, and all my fears will disappear.” Then he quickly sobered and looked down at the man. He narrowed his eyes to glare menacingly. “But, Tahon, should you harm An’nas in any way, I will be feeding you your own heart and keeping your body as a personal whetstone. Understand?” 

Tahon swallowed loudly. He didn’t fancy spending eternity as some necromancer’s toy. So he nodded. “Yes my lord.” 

***** 

Days later, Banal watched from behind a column as the two talked. A subtle spell kept them from noticing his presence. He was getting impatient. How hard was it to ask someone if they wanted to bond? Seriously? 

So far all they had done was talk. It was infuriating. Do something already. Banal had better things to do contrary to him spying. 

He frowned, biting back a sigh. His magic may be hidden, but if he made a sound, they’d hear it. Sound nullification often times could be felt, thus defeated his purpose. But inside his head he was grumbling for them to stop being awkward lovestruck puppies and just get on with it. 

“Papae what are you—“ Vhena’s voice startled him. But somehow he still managed to whirl around and grab her. He pulled her into his cover, hand over her mouth as he glared. 

‘Be quiet’ he mouthed. His ears twitched back, listening to see if An’nas or Tahon had noticed them. They continued to chat about something. He was too far away to hear clearly what was being said, but he did have a clear view of their faces. 

He leaned back out. Vhena did the same as he let go of her. “Papae are you spying?” she giggled quietly. 

“Shush, Vhena.” He growled back just as quietly. Together they watched, hearing a lapse in conversation. Tahon was awfully fidgety, Vhena noted. She wondered why. The prince was always so cocky and wild. He never got nervous or tongue-tied. Yet he was scratching the back of his neck and shifting on his feet. 

An’nas seemed to notice it too for he wore a concerned look on his face. “For the love of death, ask him already…” She heard her father hiss under his breath. She looked up at him. What in the world? 

Then the duelist seemed to have made up his mind about something. He stood taller, a rather serious expression on his face as he looked An’nas straight in the eyes. She couldn’t hear what was being said. Both of the spies leaned forward as though that would help. It didn’t of course, but they could guess as An’nas’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He seemed to struggle with words for a moment. Soon though he got a big grin and laughed in disbelief. His mouth moved as he nodded his head before nearly choking the duelist with his hug. As they kissed Vhena suddenly understood. 

“Awww!” She cooed. The two immediately stopped and started to turn towards their hidden spectators. 

“Shit.” Banal mumbled before cloaking himself in shadows and quickly making an exit. 

“Vhena!” An’nas yelled, spotting her. Her eyes grew large at being caught. But if he saw her then he must see…She looked around her, finding her father gone. She furrowed her eyebrows before she caught him walking down the hallway as though coming from somewhere else. An’nas seemed to notice him too. “Papae, Vhena was spying again.” He growled, a blush covering his face. Tahon nervously scratched the back of his head. 

“Vhena, haven’t I told you that spying is incredibly rude?” Banal said in a chastising voice. He kept his face completely neutral before turning his back to her. 

Vhena’s mouth fell open as he left her to being yelled at by her twin. 

***** 

“Papae…” An’nas started quietly. So far he and his father hadn’t gotten into any argument, but he still felt uneasy around him. He was waiting for his father to tell him it was An’nas’s fault, or something. Frankly he’d prefer if he hurried up and did. Better than waiting. 

Banal made a noise of acknowledgement as he turned a page in a book. For a moment An’nas was struck by how odd it was to see his father with another man, a Creator at that, resting against him as they read a book. 

He quickly shook his head, afraid he might say something brash again. “Have you seen Tahon?” 

Banal looked away from his book to frown at his son. “Do I seem like the type to know where everyone is at all moments?” An’nas cocked an eyebrow. Yes, yes you do he wanted to answer. “He went to Arlathan for something.” 

“For what?” An’nas furrowed his eyebrows. Food and supplies were well-stocked thanks to their merchants and now two princes using old allies. He of course didn’t miss the fact that his father had basically admitted to spying on people. 

“For something, da’nas,” Banal sighed, keeping his smile off his face. His son watched him warily. He hadn’t called him that in ages. “Oh and your sister was looking for you earlier as was N’lin, Sethon, and…” He trailed off trying to remember who he had heard buzzings about. 

“That rhyming fool that always makes lewd comments at dinner.” Falon’Din supplied. An’nas gave him a glare. He didn’t trust the Creator with his father, so everything he did An’nas was bound and determined to hate. 

“Lelaros, that’s who.” He didn’t miss his son’s nasty look, but did his best to ignore it. As far as he was concerned, marrying the Dread Wolf’s son was equally bad if not worse than his affair with a Creator. “I suggest talking with them before they tear this place apart looking for you. I’ve kept this Temple for millennia, I’d hate to have to get a new one just because you ignored your sister.” Banal turned back to his book. 

An’nas would’ve argued, but he remembered how bad his own temper was. He doubted Vhena had been able to escape their father’s foul temper gene. The temper of a dragon, probably something to do with the dragon’s blood, was incredibly frightening to behold. 

“Ma nuvenin.” An’nas bowed slightly before giving one final glare to the Guide and leaving. 

“Your son doesn’t like me much, does he?” Falon’Din asked as the Forgotten One lazily turned the next page. He felt him laugh underneath him. 

“Does that bother you?” Banal chuckled, breath dusting across Falon’Din’s neck before he moved so his head rested against his shoulder. 

“Hmm, it’d be nice if he didn’t glare at me so much. His eyes are…” 

“Unsettling? Like lightning hitting your soul, yes?” Banal snorted looking back at the place his son once stood. “Pay it no mind. As far as I’m concerned, he has no room to judge given who he has chosen to bond with.” 

“And his choice does not bother you?” Obviously the gender didn’t bother him, unless he was a hypocrite, but there were two names you didn’t speak around him and An’nas just happened to choose one of them for an in-law. 

“Would I prefer Tahon to be someone else? Yes.” He sighed. It was strange he wasn’t more upset. He wouldn’t say he didn’t care, but that it didn’t really matter what he wanted. “But he’s who he is, I cannot change that. And it’s not as though I didn’t realize this day would come.” 

“This day? What day?” Falon’Din shifted to his side so he could look at the dark elf. 

“The day I’d have to call that man son.” Banal snorted at himself. 

“You knew he’d marry your son?” The Guide chuckled. That was awfully romantic of the necromancer. 

“I suppose I did. So mostly I feel like it’s about fucking time.” 

Banal closed his eyes as hands cradled his face, before opening them again. “Hmm it sounds as though you are becoming a romantic…” 

“Hardly. I’m just good at reading people.” He mumbled against the man’s lips before they met his. Slowly he closed his eyes to better enjoy the feeling. It was strange. He felt no need for something deeper (at least not yet). This simple action didn’t repulse him and he found himself wanting more of these stolen kisses kind of moments, where they just felt each other. 

As they broke apart, Falon’Din’s words fanned across his face, “Ar lath ma…” 

Banal snorted as the Creator ran a finger through the white streak that was mere inches away from reaching the end. Banal did not fear that end oddly. If it meant he died, he was fine with that. He had lived a long life after all. If he didn’t die, then he’d face whatever happens. Not that he’d let the Creator know that. 

“Now who’s the sappy romantic?” He laughed, pulling the man back in for another kiss. 

***** 

Days later, everyone gathered around a table in the now rarely used banquet hall. They didn’t have much to celebrate and Banal wasn’t exactly able to entertain guests anymore. But Vhena had insisted they do something special. She had the place cleaned and asked Divera to put down her bow in favor of a skillet. The old tavernkeep was quite happy to order people around and make a feast. Complete with small cakes and plenty of sweets because everyone knew there were few things Banal loved and sweets were one of those things. 

Banal didn’t really see the point of celebrating. It wasn’t as though something major changed. The only difference was the two were officially bonded. But they were basically that except for in name. Of course, Tahon didn’t have the annoying habit of calling him old man before… 

Still he went along with it. Or rather was dragged along with it. He looked bored as he watched everyone talk and chat from his elevated seat. He supposed it was nice to see everyone laugh. It made the air lighter, the ordinary gloom was beaten back. For some strange reason, it brought a sense of nostalgia to him. 

He quickly took himself away from those thoughts. Memories were getting painful like he was trying to break through something. Something was fighting him inside his own head. Instead he watched. 

For a moment he was struck by how he had somehow connived his way to all these people. People who had very little in common. Former slaves and nobleblood laughed together as though friends. Criminals and those who sought justice drank merrily together. Outside these walls they would be enemies. Yet here they were allies, friends, perhaps even family. 

“You look confused, my lord.” Nolahra spoke up as she set his goblet in front of him. Her black hair was streaking with grey, her motions a bit slower. But still she had a sharp mind, and a sharper tongue. 

“I find all this curious is all.” He mumbled. She nodded absently. 

“I suppose one might after all your years of isolation.” Banal furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t remember precisely when Nolahra came to him, just that she’s been with him the longest. Sometimes she would say things like that that would spark a little fire behind the thing in his head. But she would never tell him. “But it is nice, is it not? Seeing everyone laugh and make merry?” 

“Hmm.” Was all Banal mumbled. Soon Divera announced she had finished dinner and everyone sat down. An’nas and Vhena took their spots on either side of Banal, Tahon next to An’nas. There was no order save for that. 

“So Papae, why isn’t Falon’Din here again?” Vhena asked as she fixed her plate. 

“He said he had things to attend to.” Banal shrugged as a servant sat his plate in front of him. He mumbled a thank you. 

“You mean he still plans to continue his war.” An’nas stated bluntly. He, of course, did not approve. It stunk of his father’s influence. But even as that thought crossed his mind he winced. His father was…different. Calmer, more thoughtful and less prone to violence. It had taken them a century or so to be able to talk to each other. Still An’nas continually worried he was upsetting his father or disappointing him or something and they’d backslide. 

“Yes. One does not start a war one does not intend to win.” Banal kept his tone even, neutral. He’d never tell anyone, but when he thought of the war he got a strange mix of adrenaline and worry. He loved war, loved fighting. At the same time, he worried for the Creator. War came with costs, and some costs were not worth the reward. Then he’d feel guilty because this was his plan after all. Which was absurd. It was his plan. He’d accomplished his goals. 

But why did he not feel happiness or satisfaction? He felt hollow instead. 

“I’d think you wouldn’t start a war for a stupid reason, but that’s just me.” An’nas mumbled to his plate. 

“Now, now, hallalin,” Tahon tsked his tongue, “war is always started for stupid reasons. Just depends on how stupid.” 

“Says the man that fought in four.” 

“Six.” Tahon growled. “I fought in six. And I’d hardly call them wars.” 

“And what pray tell do you call wars?” Banal asked absently. He knew he was going to get a sarcastic answer, but didn’t mind. 

“Well, in those no one had their titles stripped, their wife didn’t sleep with lord such and such and not once did anyone summon a varterral or dragon or invoke some ancient law.” Tahon rolled his eyes. “Basically they were too boring to be wars.” 

Those listening all rolled their eyes. 

A clattering to Banal’s right brought his attention there. Vhena hastily blotted at spilt wine as a servant aided her. The servant…Zeyras, a spindly youth with spikey blond hair and brown eyes, mumbled numerous apologies as he tried to wipe away the red. Vhena just smiled sweetly, looking to calm him down. 

“I will go fetch you another glass, my lady…” Zeyras bowed hastily and all but ran back to the kitchen area. His daughter shook her head as she checked over her dark magenta dress and then at the grey wolf fur she had over one shoulder. She looked up at him and waved away his questioning gaze. Banal’s gut twisted for some reason, but he passed it off as the sweets he managed to smuggle out of the kitchen. 

As the night wore on, people began to get drunk. And drunk people meant odd tales and idiotic speeches. They all toasted the newly bonded. Some even went so far as to say Tahon was either the luckiest bastard alive or the stupidest for marrying a god’s son. Banal didn’t touch his wine. Being poisoned by wine tended to make the liquid taste foul to him. Plus he wanted to remember this for some reason. 

Suddenly, a cold chill ran through Banal’s body. He straightened, electricity settling over him. He furrowed his eyebrows. Someone was here that shouldn’t be…He tuned out all the laughter and singing. 

One of his eluvians had turned on. Like someone was coming through. But it wasn’t anyone he knew. He frowned. He waved forward one of the stoic sentinels, Huros, a dark skinned man with Falon’Din’s silver vallaslin on his face who always stood behind him. Huros leaned towards him, the whites of his eyes completely black now. Black had also began to mark his mouth. 

“Go check the eluvians; someone’s coming.” Banal whispered in the man’s ear. The grim warrior nodded and then disappeared in a flash of black smoke. He felt Vhena and An’nas look at him, but he just settled back to wait. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. All the merriness around him seemed to disappear. He couldn’t hear anything beyond the hum of magic behind his ears. Falon’Din had gifted him an eluvian that connected to his Temple so that Vhena (and An’nas though he refused) could visit without her having to trek through the forest. And Banal had told the Guide to call him should…something happen in his war. 

Surely nothing could’ve happened. They’d been parted for only a few days. Of course, war was rarely stable and turned by the hour… 

Banal became twitchy as Huros took his sweet time. The hum of the eluvian died away. It didn’t take that long to get from here to what everyone jokingly referred to as the Hall of Mirrors. He stood up. He wasn’t known for patience. 

“Papae?” Vhena asked over her wine glass. 

“Just going to check on something.” He mumbled as he began walking. He felt everyone watching him as he left the room. No doubt they wondered what had happened. He walked the twists and turns of the hallways only lit by dim crystals for a while. 

The door to his destination was open. Hisses could be heard. Banal’s neck hairs stood up and he pinned his ears back. Slowly he entered the room. Every eluvian Banal had ever created was in this room. It wasn’t a great number, but still enough to fill the large room. Some were permanently dark, others broken. Most were still active only humming when he turned them on. 

But Falon’Din’s, the ornate one with owls and vines making the frame, was the one that caught his attention. Huros was growling at another elf that in turn glared at him. They spoke in hushed tones. 

“What’s going on here?” Banal barked as he approached them. Huros bowed his head slightly, never leaving the stranger. 

“This one says it has a message for you.” Banal bit his tongue against reminding the warrior that calling people ‘it’ was considered rude. But the man had spent more years amongst corpses than the living, and corpses were considered ‘it’s, so it was somewhat explainable. “It also tried to order me like the Creator’s lapdog.” 

Banal then took notice of the stranger’s vallaslin. Falon’Din’s. Which would explain why they thought they could talk to Huros in such a way. He placed a hand on the warrior’s shoulder before facing the unknown. “Speak.” 

The person, it was hard to tell from underneath the hood and armor, frowned, but followed the order. “The master requires you.” 

Banal nearly snorted. “Master requires nothing.” He spat. His ears pinned back again when the other person opened their mouth. They shut it again. “What does he want with me?” 

The messenger glanced at Huros before sighing, as though realizing he wasn’t going to go away. “Others come for him, make him stop the war or kill him.” 

For some strange reason, the last two words shot ice through Banal’s veins. The ice made his heart stutter. As though he was afraid for the Guide. Ridiculous of course. He knew very well that starting this war would end in the Creator’s death and hopefully a few other’s too. That was the point. But now… 

“How quickly will they reach him?” Banal snapped. 

“He closed all eluvians save yours to buy time.” The messenger shrugged. “A few weeks maybe.” Banal gritted his teeth. Why did he have the compulsion to save the bloody idiot? He was getting what he wanted. Yet he got that hollow feeling again. Besides what was he supposed to do? Talk Falon’Din into ending the war before he got his head severed? Banal was good at talking people into war, not out of war. 

“And what exactly does he require of me? I can do little against all of the Creators.” 

“He would not say.” The messenger bowed his head slightly, awaiting to be dismissed. Banal growled in his throat. He made a dismissive gesture before turning on his heel and heading for the door. He caught a glimpse of someone running out of the room, but paid it no heed. He had bigger things to worry about. 

Slowly he and Huros made their way back to the dining hall…that was oddly quiet. They glanced at each other. Huros stepped forward, leading the way. A sudden crash made them both sprint towards the door. 

“What the fuck did you do?!” Sarris’s voice echoed around them as they entered. The brunet was glaring at a very frightened Zeyras. Blood gushed from a cut in the young man’s lip as the much larger and more ill-tempered young man held him up by the neck. 

“What the hell is going on?” Banal barked. Everyone’s eyes were glaring at the servant who trembled. 

“Ask him.” Sarris shoved the boy back. Banal stormed forward, getting a headache. This was why they couldn’t have parties. Too many opposites were bound to explode when alcohol was involved. He glared at both boys awaiting one of them to speak. 

“I-I...I didn’t…They made me…” Zeyras spoke in disjointed sentences as Banal’s gaze rested on him. He was frightened beyond death. His face was pale, sweaty. 

“Who made you do what?” 

Tears started well up in his frightened eyes. “They said she…you…the only way to save you was for her to…to…to die.” Banal furrowed his eyebrows. “I told them no, she wasn’t…you weren’t…I tried, spilt her wine…but they made me. Said they’d kill me if I didn’t.” 

He frowned, trying to piece together what the boy was talking about. Spilt her wine…suddenly an image of Vhena blotting her dress came to mind. Ice gripped him again. But fury melted it a second later. His hands shot out, wrapped around Zeyras’s neck and lifted him off the ground so their eyes were level. 

Banal’s ears pinned back, his nails clawing into the young man’s flesh. “What the fuck did you do? Who the fuck is they?” He yelled. The servant whimpered, facing a god’s wrath for the first time. “Speak!” When he didn’t, Banal’s fingers began to tighten. Zeyras kicked, trying to get air. 

“Poison.” Zeyras whimpered, making Banal loosen his grip. “Many think you being corrupted, wanted to save you.” The young man swallowed, “Symira and Saviik.” Then the man lost consciousness. Banal growled, his fingers tightening again. He watched his face turn red, starting to turn blue. 

And suddenly he dropped him. No one spoke in the room. That was new. Banal was pissed. Normally he’d be demanding blood and it wouldn’t matter whose. Yet he glared down at Zeyras and couldn’t make himself kill him. He told himself that it was because the man was clearly upset with himself and that was a far more fitting punishment. But he knew it was because he had tried to not do it, tried to save her. 

“Find them.” Banal’s voice echoed around the room. “I want those bastards’ heads mounted to the wall.” Everyone jumped as the entire Temple shook with the power that slipped out of Banal’s control. Many of them nodded and then disappeared. He didn’t wait for anyone else. 

Banal ran out of the room, using his magic that flowed throughout the Temple to pinpoint where Vhena was. There were traces of her everywhere, but he picked up the most recent and headed for the remnants of his marsh, vaguely aware of people following him. It seemed to take him forever to reach it. His heart was in adamant denial, or perhaps his brain still had not wrapped itself around any of this…He burst through the archway and looked around the room, trying to find her. She had to be okay. 

“Vhena?” slipped from his mouth as he heard her cough. He turned quickly towards the noise. She covered her mouth as she coughed again. And again. And again. Each sound was more wet than the last. His heart started beating a thousand times faster. Suddenly the world was spinning. This was not happening. His feet froze to the ground. Blood ran through her fingers. “Vhena!” His voice echoed around the hall as she dropped to her knees. 

Banal’s paralysis shattered and he fade stepped. Only a single word filled his head: no. She leaned forward on her hands. Blood dripped to the stones as he knelt beside her. His hands shook. She made a pained noise as more blood cascaded from her mouth. Banal cupped her face and brought her to look at him. 

Her bright eyes were glassy, skin pale. Blood ran down her chin and her nose. Gently he brushed her hair away from her face, pushing at her bangs. Panic was starting to fill him. This was a dream. A nightmare. Pain stabbed his heart. He couldn’t breathe. 

“Papae…” She whimpered. Her arms gave out. Banal caught her and gently moved to cradle her. Tears began to prickle at his eyes. Icy fear gripped his heart. Her lungs labored to breathe around the blood. Vaguely he felt An’nas and Tahon kneeling near them. “It…hurts…” 

“Shh, ma da’vhenan.” He cooed, stroking her bangs to the side. He had lost children before, killed them himself. But he didn’t remember it ever hurting this much. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. So he kept petting her. 

She wheezed, sputtering more blood up. “Papae…” An’nas’s voice was quiet. No doubt he could feel her pain. “Can’t you do something?” 

Banal couldn’t answer. He couldn’t think. How did this all happen? Why? Who was he going to massacre for this? How was he going to make them hurt like this? He knew of no torture that compared to this. He felt like his heart was splitting in two. Her eyes began to fall shut… 

Tears dripped onto Vhena’s cheek. Banal blinked, more drops falling. When had been the last time he had wept? He couldn’t even remember. Yet it felt like all he could do now. He clutched her tightly and bent his head. 

Small choking sounds came from him. Like he was trying to hold everything back. An’nas blinked, his own tears streaking his face. It was the first time he had ever seen his father cry. 

Suddenly anger went through his veins. Dammit, he wasn’t supposed to cry, to break. He was supposed to know what to do, how to fix this. An’nas clenched his fists. There had to be some way to help her! He could feel the part of him that connected to her slowly fading with her heartbeat. 

“Papae, you have to know something,” An’nas growled. Tahon wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You have to…” Yet the man didn’t raise his head. More tears spilled out of An’nas’s eyes. “ **Do something!** ” He cried, voice echoing around them. 

Banal slowly looked to his son. “I cannot.” His voice cracked. He looked back at Vhena. Blood flowed from her mouth, around her chin and neck and had begun to tangle her white hair. Her chest barely moved, save for the occasionally wheezing. It would take her an hour to die at best. 

Her eyelids fluttered open. And she smiled. It just twisted all the pain tighter in his chest. “Papae…don’t cry…” Her hand twitched like she wanted to move it. An’nas grabbed it tightly. It was cold and weak like holding porcelain. “Papae?” 

“Stop talking, little idiot.” An’nas growled at his twin. Her eyes found his and she smiled again. But then she looked back to their father. 

“Papae, do you love Falon’Din?” Banal’s eyebrows furrowed. The girl was dying and yet she still wished to pry into his love life. He gawped at her. He didn’t even know if he could answer that. Love was a rather frightening word. A word Banal wished to avoid at all costs. Vhena seemed to realize that her father couldn’t openly voice his feelings. She smiled again. “It’s just my opinion…” She coughed again, “but if you love someone, shouldn’t you…stop them from…hurting themselves? Or their own stupidity?” Banal wasn’t quite sure what she was getting at. 

Unless she had eavesdropped on his conversation...like she was known to do. He looked at her eyes as she struggled to maintain consciousness. “You’re the only…thing he should have…to fear, right?” She repeated the words he’d always say when the twins were frightened. He felt more tears start to form, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were clear, his expression soft. 

“Shh, da’vhenan.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead. A soft humming sound came from his throat. Soon he found his voice and sang quietly to her. An’nas just listened; his father had always sang to them as children, but it had been ages since he had heard him. The lullaby settled over them, offering some calm amidst the swirling storm of pain. 

When Banal finished, he whispered, “Rest now.” Whether from blood loss or his words, her eyes fell shut again. Gently he laid her on the ground. “I will fix my mess.” He whispered to her before he stood. 

“Papae?” An’nas’s voice trembled with panic. His eyes watched him with fear. 

Banal looked down on him before turning to the others that he realized were gathered. “Nehnlin, please take Vhena to her quarters. Make sure she’s comfortable.” The rogue bowed before doing as he was bid. The others looked at each other, and then at Banal. 

“What will you do now? Symira and Saviik have already ran.” Nolahra asked, blinking away her own tears. She had buried far too many children in her time; she did not want to see another. 

“Kill those responsible in the cruelest ways I can think of. Stop Falon’Din from losing his life.” Banal shrugged as he began to walk towards the armory. A hand gripped his arm. Slowly he turned to find An’nas glaring at him. 

“You’re leaving?” He growled. Banal did not answer. “Your daughter is dying and you’re fucking leaving?” 

“I leave to take the lives of those who killed her…” Banal growled before he softened his voice, “And correct my mistakes.” He watched as anger turned to sorrow in those strange eyes. “I cannot offer comfort, da’nas, I do not know how. But I do know how to enact revenge and that is what I shall do.” 

An’nas let go of him and looked down at the ground. He knew he couldn’t talk his father out of this. Plus he felt the need to kill those bastards too, despite him vowing to never kill another person. “When do you think you’ll be back?” He asked quietly. 

Banal smiled sadly. He took off the circlet upon his head. He held it in his hand, smoothing his thumb over one of the fangs. He stepped towards An’nas, placing it over his son’s head. “I leave this place to you. Keep it and everyone safe.” An’nas blinked at the unfamiliar weight upon his head. He looked up at his father. Banal smiled. The crown suited him, he thought. The skull nearly blended in with his hair. 

“You…you aren’t coming back?” 

Banal shook his head. “No I am not.” Fear sparked behind the boy’s eyes, leading Banal to gently lay his hands on his shoulders. “I am old, da’nas. I have lived far passed my time, made far too many mistakes that I can no longer fix. But I can fix this one. And I will, with my life if need be.” He knew he wasn’t likely to survive this. He had fought the Creators before, but with armies. Others kept Mythal and Fen’Harel and whoever else busy while he focused on Elgar’nan. 

This time he wouldn’t have that. He’d only have himself against seven or eight would-be gods. He had faced impossible odds before and won, but this time? He would die. And that was fine. If he did not die, then he might stay with Falon’Din and keep the Guide out of trouble. But first… 

An’nas sniffed, a few more tears running down the tracks on his face. He was losing sister and father. Banal rubbed circles with his thumbs. He knew the thoughts that lay on his son’s mind. A part of him was dying and made it feel like the rest of him was dying too. Twins were funny that way. 

“Da’nas?” He waited for him to look him in the eyes. It took several heartbeats before he raised his head. “I cannot tell you what to do, but…” Banal leaned forward to press their foreheads together, an action they often did when An’nas was young. “I beg you, do not make me lose another child.” 

An’nas’s eyes widened as his father stared straight at him. There were ages of pain in them, eons of suffering suddenly coming to their surfaces. He slowly nodded before Banal backed away and looked over An’nas’s shoulder. 

“And you,” He addressed Tahon, “you’d better damn well take care of him or I’ll come back from the Void itself to bash your pretty little head in.” 

An’nas frowned, but Tahon chuckled with little mirth. “Whatever you say, old man.” Banal snorted before turning and continuing towards the armory. He reached the archway to its hall before something stopped him. 

“Dareth Shiral, Papae.” 

Banal turned his head. “Dareth Shiral, ma nas.”

_

***** 

“ _Papae!_ ” A young man yelled as he barreled into the chamber. He nearly knocked down Blackwall and Nehnlin in his haste. He didn’t even stop to go down the stairs. He merely jumped and continued towards the unconscious Inquisitor. His leather greaves tore on the ground as he slid to his knees. 

For a moment they were all stunned as the young man hesitantly checked for a pulse. His pure white hair, short save for one small and long braid behind his ear and two shorter ones in front, ended in black tips, speckling his head. He was dressed as a bard might, an elven bard anyway, which is to say very little armor. And had a strange sort of skull circlet upon his head. But what stunned them was the pale purple light he emitted. 

It smoked, not unlike Banal’s, off him. Wisps twisted and curled through the air before his hands hovered over Banal. The little bands of magic washed over him, pulling out the black. The purplish white waivered as the black bit back. 

Quietly the Inner Circle moved forward, the elves slowly behind them. Some of them glanced at the boy, but moved to check the corpses of their dead friends. Lotus sighed at all the bodies. He took a step towards Banal. 

A loud clatter brought their attention behind them to the door. A young woman, barely so it seemed, stared at the place. Her eyes, which were strangely like the Inquisitor’s only framed by pale eyelashes, widened in horror. Her skin, already a pale olive color, lost all color. The source of the noise was her staff, one topped with hart horns adorned in little jewels, dropping to the ground. 

She shook when she spotted Banal’s prone form. For a moment it seemed she couldn’t understand any of this. Then she took a staggering step forward, leading to another and another until she was half running towards him. She didn’t even stop to notice the humans. Her legs gave out near him, making her crumble to the ground. 

She and the man shared a look as she crawled closer. Without thinking, she laid her hands on top of his. Like she had completed a circuit, the light grew. She also smoked, those hers had a slight green hue. The two magics did not clash, but melded together. And the sheer amount suddenly filled the room with smells of plants never known to the modern world. 

The light drew out more of the dark from the Inquisitor’s body. And…neutralized it? Dissolved it? Or perhaps it merely cleansed it. Any way one looked at it, there was less black than there was a minute ago. 

Solas tilted his head to the side. He had tried that once, tried neutralizing Banal’s magic. However, all it did was give him a headache as the magic backlashed. But these two were easily doing what he couldn’t. 

After a moment or two, the light disappeared back into them and the Inquisitor twitched as though having a nightmare. The pair gasped for breath, shaking. Lotus walked over to the man, whispering something in his ear that made his head snap to the side. His strange purple eyes widened as they fell upon another man lying against a wall. The woman spoke something before he nodded and hurried to the wounded’s side. Dorian took that opportunity to walk closer to Banal. Was he dying? Bleeding? What had happened? He had never seen the elf’s magic get that out of control before. A million questions swirled around the Altus’s head, all centered on the elf. 

He let out a sigh of relief when he got closer. Banal’s chest moved with shallow breaths, which was a good start at least. As he knelt down beside him, the girl was removing his armor with shaking hands. She didn’t even look up when Dorian began to help. Her eyes were bleary. Sometimes she’d pause to wipe at her face. 

The dragonscale arm armor, chest plate and the leather vest underneath it weren’t difficult to remove. It was the chainmail shirt that posed a problem. The girl had to then take notice of her human helper. 

She stared at him with curious eyes. She may have the same color eyes as the Inquisitor, Dorian thought, but hers were softer, kinder. Less dragon-like and more…cat like. A sweet white haired cat that followed you around the house, purring and rubbing against your leg… 

She spoke to him, a string of elven words he couldn’t understand. “Um, right. Anyone want to translate?” He quipped, looking at the common tongue speaking people. Morrigan frowned but stepped forward. In what probably would’ve seemed basic elvish to the girl, she asked to repeat what she said. 

Morrigan contemplated for a moment, rolling the words around. “Lift…I believe she wants you to lift him up for her.” 

“Ah well that’s helpful.” Dorian tried to be gentle as he gathered the limp Inquisitor up. As he raised him, the girl pulled the chainmail up with some difficulty. The padded tunic underneath was less difficult. But the sight of the Inquisitor’s skin… 

Bruises seemed to cover every inch of it. Reds, blacks, blues, and green molted his skin. A few lacerations crisscrossed his ribs. But without all the armor, his chest moved easier, though it still sounded close to a death rattle. 

The girl’s hands shook as she held them out. Healing magic poured out of them. Again Dorian smelt flowers as he kept the Inquisitor slightly elevated. To help him breathe, of course. Slowly the bruises lessened. 

Then Banal’s eyelashes fluttered, his face contorting as though in pain. Very slowly, the Inquisitor came back to his body. Everywhere hurt. His limbs felt every year of his life. And for the first time he honestly wished Uthenera to take him. Slowly his eyes opened. 

First thing he saw was Dorian’s face. “Well you’re awake, that’s good…” The Altus’s voice was shaky. Banal snorted as best he could with his chest feeling like it had a room collapse on it. 

He tried to remember what had happened exactly. He remembered being angry, wanting to destroy that demon ten ways for every person it had killed getting to him. Then he remembered pulling stone, wind, and plants together, crafting from shadow a varterral…and then everything went black. 

He assumed since Dorian was…holding him? Yes he was holding him. It was nice, better than waking up on the hard ground at least. Anyway, he assumed since he was there, the varterral had dissolved back into the Void. 

Slowly Banal looked around him. And froze. Dorian felt the elf’s body go rigid as he locked eyes with the girl who had stopped her healing once he began to move. 

For a moment he seemed shocked. His face drained of color as he stared into eyes identical to his. Surely he was still in the Fade, dreaming, some demon’s idea of a joke. Or was all that was before the joke? He couldn’t really say. 

He heard familiar voices. They snapped him out of it. He turned his head, peering around Dorian. Lotus knelt near Tahon, removing his armor to reveal his wounds. Beside him was…a very familiar head of black tipped hair. His eyes widened, heart stopping. 

He wasn’t sure if he should be amazed, confused, or happy. He could barely comprehend on how any of them were alive, let alone those two. So he’d settle on all of them at once. 

A disbelieving chuckle came from his lips as he looked back and forth at the two. Using Dorian, Banal pulled himself up with far more effort than normal. The human kept him balanced as the chuckle started to build. It grew quietly into laughter, laughter one reserved for crazy ideas or hallucinations. Everyone stared at him, but he didn’t care. 

“ _I suppose that’s that then…_ ” He said to himself, an amazed smirk settling on his features. The girl cocked her head to the side in confusion. “ _You are both royally tough to kill; it must be a…family trait._ ” 

The girl’s eyes widened before she grinned. Instantly she pulled him into a tight hug. Banal hissed. Pain ran through his body before she let go. She was shaking, tears in her eyes as she smiled at him. 

“I know this might be a moot point right now, but what happened?” Dorian asked, breaking the odd world he had been thrown into. 

Banal blinked. He turned to look at the human. “I may have…” He hissed as it hurt to talk, “overexerted myself.” 

“ **May** have?” Dorian scoffed. “My dear Inquisitor, need I remind you, you are covered in wounds and nearly died?” Dorian’s voice held a strain of anger. Banal blinked again. It was strange for someone to get angry at another for dying. What was the point? They’re dying or dead. Not much they can do about it. 

Rather than ask the human about it, Banal avoided it. “Well you’re a necromancer aren’t you? How hard would it be to bring me back?” 

“I would much rather avoid having to explain that to Josephine.” 

Before they could continue their sarcastic banter, Banal’s attention was caught on something else. The amount of bodies. All he could do was look around and see them all. Every name, face flashed into his mind. He could hear quiet sobbing that was becoming louder. He looked to it. 

Irenna cradled her twin’s head against her chest. Tears dripped down her nose. She pressed a hand against the drying bloodstain on her abdomen as though hoping to keep her soul inside. Sulahn’mi was beside her, gently rubbing her back. The twins had been together every step of their long lives. He doubted they never parted for more than a day and always had the certainty of meeting again. 

Banal started to get his feet underneath him. He couldn’t say if he was moved by her grief, or what, but he couldn’t stand listening to her. Irenna was one of the toughest women he had ever known and even she was broken by this. 

Dorian helped him stand, but he pushed him away as he started to walk. His steps were wobbly at best, like he hadn’t walked in three weeks. But he made his way over to her. He knelt beside her, placing one hand on her shoulder. She looked at him. Tears had cleared little paths in the grime on her face. 

Banal winced seeing her like that. Gently he pried her sister out of her grip and laid her back down. He met Sula’s eyes, tears hanging in them like stars. She nodded once, knowing what was to happen next. She knew it when Cvenna went down. There was no Irenna without Cvenna in the next breath. And though she knew it was better this way, it still pushed new tears down her face. She was tired of saying goodbye. 

She hiccupped loudly, forcibly blinking as she stood. Arvaan led her away. Banal focused back on Irenna who had moved to bowing her head. Her sobs were becoming more like screams. Or at least that’s what they felt like to Banal. 

Gently he took the hand on her shoulder and wrapped it around her back. He tugged at her. Slowly she turned and buried her face in his chest. He wasn’t very good at comfort, but he knew to gently rub her back, place a hand on the back of her head. He realized his tunic was open when he felt her tears hit his skin, but it was a distant thought. 

“ _Ma ghilana mir din’an_ ,” Irenna whimpered. He sighed against her hair. It seemed it wasn’t enough he lose nearly everyone, but he must kill some himself as well. Irenna was speaking in broken phrases. He didn’t hear much of them. Never before did killing someone seem so…painful. 

“ _Ela Din’an las atisha, lethallan._ ” He whispered in her ear. He closed his eyes against the sight. A light shot through her heart, piercing her back. He heard her gurgle a little before her body went limp against him. “ _Dareth Shiral._ ” He opened his eyes again before laying her down next to her sister. 

“What the hell was that for?” Someone growled behind him. He couldn’t tell who it was beyond the ringing in his ears. 

“She asked me to.” He stated simply. There was some argument in reply, but he was focused on the two bodies in front of him. He gently closed both their eyes. “I do not expect any of you to understand, nor should I have to explain it to you, but…” He stood again. “The Elvhen believed that twins shared a soul. There could not be one without the other. Either I let her die dishonorably or I grant a good death so that she may find her sister again.” 

“Dishonorably? You don’t mean…” Blackwall blinked. It was hard to think of such things. Even if it was your twin… 

“Either my sword or hers would have pierced her heart.” Banal finally looked back at them. Pain and grief played behind his eyes. They were glassy, disconnected. 

“ _Check for survivors. Those who cannot be saved…end their suffering. Tend to your wounds as well. I do not wish to lose anymore to stupidity._ ” He told the elves. His voice was quiet, devoid of the power it held previously. “I’d appreciate it if you could help them, tending to wounds, the dying, and the dead…” 

“ _Papae…_ ” made him turn his head. Vhena had moved next to her brother as he pressed cloth against the duelist’s wounds. But the fabric was quickly turning red even as An’nas poured healing magic over them. Lotus had that grim look on his face that said he didn’t think the outcome was going to be good. 

Slowly Banal walked over to them. The Envy demon had cut deep wounds that still hummed with its poisonous magic. But he knew better than to tell An’nas it was a lost cause. His son felt his shadow fall over him and looked up. Banal remembered those eyes, ones filled with fear and sorrow, pleading with him. ‘He’s not dead,’ An’nas had argued, ‘we can’t just abandon him.’ 

No. 

Banal set his jaw. He couldn’t tell you how many people had died today, but he could tell you he wasn’t going to lose another damn one. Especially not that bloody, sarcastic asshole he had to call son-in-law. Void help him, he actually missed being called old man by the jackass. 

He knelt down on one knee. He splayed his hand on the stones near Tahon. His magic was raw still. It bit and ached as he coaxed it out. Slowly he pushed it into a glyph, repeating the spell Commander Helaine drilled him on endlessly. He had never really seen the point of it then. At least he could get her to stop lecturing him now… 

Devoid of its usual destruction, his magic spread over the ground. Black glowed softly, pinpricks of light flashed like little stars. It hummed gently. Little lines drew over Tahon. Magic curled around his wounds like filigree. 

Banal felt his throat constrict, the hollow of it shrinking back. His chest acted like he was hiccupping, spasming as it tried to breathe. His eyes blacked out for a moment. Then the glyph faded away. Banal gulped in air. He wouldn’t be able to maintain that spell for very long it seemed. Which was good because he felt a bright flare inside him. The black didn’t put up much of a fight against the white as it strove to reclaim a portion of what it had lost that day. 

Moments later, Tahon opened his eyes. “ _Huh…_ ” he muttered after looking around, voice hoarse, “ _The Void looks…filled…_ ” 

“ _That’s because this isn’t the Void,_ ” Lotus snorted. The man turned his wolfish eyes to the doctor. 

“ _Shit hell does exist…_ ” 

Lotus couldn’t help but laugh at the attitude. If the idiot could make jokes, he was going to be fine. He nodded to Banal who nodded wearily back. He was so looking forward to sleeping for once. An’nas, however, was looking forward to yelling at his husband, which he immediately started on. 

“ _At least this time I didn’t take something through my stomach…_ ” Tahon interrupted with a laugh despite it making his wounds bleed more. 

An’nas glared, applying more pressure to them. “ _Stop laughing! You’re making it worse!_ ” But that only made Tahon laugh more. 

“ _But your face is just so cute when you get upset, hallalin, how can I not laugh?_ ” Banal rolled his eyes and stood up. That man owed him his life twice now. 

An’nas huffed before turning to Lotus. “ _Hurry up and help me heal him so I can smack him._ ” Banal chuckled and turned back to the room. He caught Solas’s eyes lingering on Tahon before they met Banal’s. A thousand questions burned in them. A million accusations boiled behind them. And that just made Banal smirk, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

***** 

“We’ll stay here until the sun sets…” Banal collapsed back in his throne. “Give me a moment and I’ll show you to a less…frightening area.” 

The dead were being tended to, prepared for their funerals. The wounded were spread over the stairs below him. Most would have a few scars, but would be generally okay. A few didn’t fare as well. An eye gone, or an arm, a crushed hip or shoulder. But they were alive, even if that wasn’t much consolation. 

He felt the eyes of his companions fall on him as they helped either carry bodies or tend to wounds. Everyone was too exhausted for healing spells save for An’nas and a certain red-headed pirate woman who joined the fight last. She walked with a sea swagger to the heavily wounded while An’nas, who in all realities was still an apprentice, tended to the mildly injured. Lotus set bones, stitched cuts, and oversaw An’nas. 

Vhena, who was still woozy from waking up, was sitting on the ground near Banal. Now that they had a moment to breathe and take stock, his mind could finally think. How in the bloody world was she alive? He saw her coughing up blood. Unless he imagined it. But he glanced down to his still bared chest, finding the thin line where he took Mythal’s sword through the stomach easily. 

“ _How?_ ” was all he managed to ask with his swirling thoughts. Vhena blinked and looked up at him. 

“ _How what, Papae?_ ” She asked sweetly. Her skin was paler, a thin layer of sweat coating it. Like just being awake was strenuous. 

“ _How are you alive?_ ” He asked bluntly. 

“ _What the hell am I? Invisible?_ ” Lotus growled loudly. Banal looked to him as Vhena giggled. “ _Yes hello, hi, name’s the Lotusmaker as in I specialize in poisons and conversely their antidotes, nice to meet you._ ” The man rolled his eyes. 

“ _You…made an antidote?_ ” Banal blinked, jaw falling slightly open as his eyebrows furrowed. “ _Where the hell were you when I was poisoned?_ ” 

Lotus snorted, tying off a knot around Soralan’s arm…well what was left of it. “ _Wasn’t even a thought back then, lethallin. And yes I made an antidote._ ” He straightened. “ _Don’t get me wrong, there was enough poison absorbed in her system to do some damage, particularly to her lungs. I don’t recommend strenuous exercise. I also don’t recommend her becoming an alcoholic, in fact I advise against her drinking period._ ” He fixed his long black coat as he spoke, rolling up the sleeves. “ _There might be…other complications, but we probably won’t know for a while._ ” 

Banal opened his mouth to speak as he felt someone invading his mind. A metaphorical stick poking him so to speak. He frowned and threw up barriers as that stick tried to dig into his skull. His eyes found Vhena. “ _I did not tell you you could snoop in my head,_ ” He growled. 

She crossed her arms and returned his glare, “ _Well I didn’t ask._ ” By the Void she had his attitude. Yet the way she said it was far from his tone. Hers was a child who got caught and resorted to sarcasm. His would have been a king who didn’t have to ask. 

“ _What need do you have that requires picking my brain?_ ” He hissed. 

“ _Your friends talk so strangely…_ ” She motioned towards the mortals with one hand wrapped around herself. Varric was attempting to explain to Sula that he wasn’t a Stone dwarf. Cassandra was helping to tend to wounds with Dorian while Blackwall and Bull helped carry injured or bodies. 

“ _You do not need to know what they say, da’vhenan. They will be gone soon enough…_ ” He didn’t miss how Vhena’s eyes widened. She clutched a hand over her heart as she looked down. She knew he wasn’t going to be staying and that he wasn’t taking anyone with him. It was far too dangerous. 

An’nas looked over his shoulder with a glare at his father. He spoke to Lotus and stood, his mate’s blood coating his hands. He stalked up the steps to Banal and gave him his best ‘what the hell are you talking about?’ glare. Varric looked over, they all did as the two men locked eyes. 

No one in the Inquisition had seen someone glare that way at Banal, or weather the glare that said back down or I kill you. Yet the man with the dawn colored eyes did. His stubbornness was his father’s stubbornness after all. 

“ _Let me guess, you’re going to just leave again, and we get to stay behind, right?_ ” An’nas hissed. Banal stood up so his son wasn’t looking down at him anymore. “ _If you think that’s going to happen, then Uthenera must have made you senile, Papae._ ” 

Banal’s eyes narrowed even more “ _An’nas…_ ” He warned. He wasn’t in the mood to put up with another family debate. Or An’nas’s attitude. Or anyone’s attitude really. 

“ _No, Papae. Don’t think for one moment that I’m just going to sit here, **again** while you’re off…_ ” His hands made vague gestures when he couldn’t think of what his father was doing this time. “ _We thought you dead_ ” Banal winced at the pain behind the glare and shouting “ _And then suddenly we wake to find the Temple under attack and you…alive and we have no idea what has happened or why it’s happened. The least you owe us is some damn answers._ ” 

Banal’s eyes flitted between his son’s. For a moment, he could only think when did his son become so assertive? When had he stopped being passive and became a leader? And why the hell did getting yelled at by his son make him happy? 

“ _What you think I owe you and what I think are two different things. All I owe you is to destroy the entrance to this place so that you all may rest again._ ” It was An’nas’s time to wince. His father was going to seal this place away, seal them away. Even though he had been, for the first time, openly happy to see them alive. And he was just going to let them rot here. 

His anger came back full force, his ears pinned back and he took another step forward, effectively getting in his father’s face. “ _Like hell you are! Like hell I’m going to let you!_ ” He growled. Everyone was in shock. No one ever got in the Inquisitor’s face or yelled at him. What alternate universe had they fallen into? 

“ _Whether you let me or not, does not change the fact that I will keep you all safe as best I know how._ ” Banal hissed back, fire sparking in his eyes as his own ears flared back. 

“ _And the best you can think of is to make us hide and rot?_ ” An’nas scoffed. 

“ _You have a better suggestion I suppose?_ ” 

An’nas leaned back and crossed his arms, “ _Let us come with you._ ” He said flatly. Banal pinched the bridge of his nose and snarled. That was the exact opposite of keeping them all safe. They’d all be killed. Not to mention, it opened many opportunities for his enemies to exploit him and his weaknesses. 

An’nas seemed to sense his father’s arguments. “ _Our numbers are decimated, Papae. They found this place once, there’s no guarantee they won’t come again and we don’t have the strength to fight back. At least out there, we’d have a chance._ ” His tempered his voice to a quiet murmur, eyes pleading for his father to listen. 

“ _Out there the only chance you have is getting killed. The world is not what it was, da’nas. It would kill you._ ” And like hell he was going to watch his children die again. 

“ _Out there or in here…what difference does it make?_ ” An’nas closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. “ _You gave this Temple to me, put these people under **my** protection. Whether you like it or not, Papae, I’m not staying here. I’m coming with you_.” 

Banal sighed loudly, stepping back and sinking into throne. His son was more stubborn than he remembered… “ _Do what you think you must_ ” He looked up at his son and sighed again. “ _If you insist upon dying, I have little choice in the matter._ ” 

“ _So we can come?_ ” Vhena asked quietly, her eyes wide. Banal didn’t leave An’nas’s eyes as he nodded solemnly. That stick probed again making him hiss. 

“ _Impatient little…_ ” Banal growled as he shoved her spell away from him. Vhena looked at him sheepishly. He narrowed his eyes. Magic swirled around him, making him wince as it hit his injuries. He carefully chose the bits of knowledge that would prove useful to them, a basic timeline of events, the trade tongue, some custom issues, those sort of things. With a little thought, he pushed the magic out, spreading it over his people like a fog. All their eyes flashed bright green as the knowledge sank in. “There happy?” 

Vhena giggled, “Yes, quite.” She smiled, it taking no time at all for the information to settle in her head. Others groaned and rubbed their heads, waiting for nausea and dizziness to subside. An’nas gave his head a shake before returning to his bondmate’s side. 

The Inquisition members all blinked at the girl. So wait, the elves’ eyes flash and suddenly they speak perfect trade tongue? As if the day could not get any weirder… 

“So…now that we aren’t fighting for our lives…” Varric began, testing the waters. All the non-occupied elves turned to him, confirming that they understood him. 

“You wish for introductions?” Banal finished with a cocked eyebrow. 

“Well that would be nice so we aren’t yelling ‘you elf, no the other elf’ all the time.” 

Banal sighed rubbing his temples. That spell always gave him a headache. “I think they are more than capable of introducing themselves…” 

“Yeah well five minutes ago, they couldn’t understand us.” 

“Vhena.” The young white haired girl spoke up with a cheery smile. Everyone blinked at her. “My name is Vhena, this one’s daughter.” Her laugh bubbled around them as Banal glared up at her. 

“Only when I claim you.” Banal growled. Vhena waved his comment away. 

“That man,” She pointed to the man with speckled hair, “is my twin, An’nas. The man lying on the ground making terrible jokes is—“ 

“Perfectly capable of introducing himself.” The man interrupted. He used An’nas to steady himself as he got to his feet. His skin was pale from blood loss, but he still stood strong. Only if you watched him closely would you see how tense he became meeting Solas’s eyes. “Name’s Prince Sarel Tahon Surana of House Sylan, well I suppose House Lavellan now.” Everyone blinked at him, making him laugh. “Everyone calls me Tahon though.” 

“Really? I call you idiot.” An’nas hissed as the man leaned on him. 

“Aw _ar lath ma, hallalin…_ ” Tahon batted his eyelashes at the man who only rolled his eyes. 

“Get a room,” the blood mage spoke up, with a smile on her face. When she turned to the others, the smile turned more into a smirk. “Samahlnan the Crow, mistress of King Fenrian, much to the displeasure of my friend.” She motioned towards the black-eyed healer who was frowning. 

“The…Crow?” Blackwall cocked an eyebrow at her skeptically. What kind of honorific was that? 

“Yes the Crow. It’s a…quaint little nickname I got around Arlathan. If someone needed someone else dead, you’d call the Crow and well I’m the Crow.” She giggled to herself. Before anyone could question her sanity, the black-eyed man next to her spoke up, “The Lotusmaker everyone just calls me Lotus though.” 

“Let me guess, you grew lotuses?” Varric quipped. 

“Made Lotus potions. I was drug dealing physician.” Lotus shrugged with a smile. “Everyone’s got to make a living. Anyway the unconscious man over there is Soralan the Liar.” He pointed to the now one-armed man he had just finished patching up. 

“Wait so is he an actual liar or is he lying about lying?” Varric asked looking at the head of white braids. 

“Or is he telling the truth about lying about lying?” Solas countered, amused at the nickname. 

“Or is he lying about telling the truth about lying about lying?” 

“Or is he telling the truth about lying about telling the truth about lying about lying?” 

“Dear Maker…” Cassandra groaned as their friends continued adding telling the truth and lying’s to the sentence. Soon all their minds were spinning, trying to understand and keep up with the never ending series of lyings and truths. 

Banal growled loudly, stopping the ramblings. “I don’t care if he is lying about telling the truth about lying about telling the truth about lying about telling the truth about lying about telling the truth about lying about lying.” 

“You missed a truth, Inquisitor.” Dorian mentioned as he counted on his fingers. 

Banal glared hotly at his lover. “What…ever.” The human rose his hands in surrender, before returning to bandaging a wound. Banal snorted once before looking around at the busy. “You already know Sula and Arvaan. The red haired woman” he pointed to one that had a bandanna around her neck and dreadlocks as she performed a healing spell, “that’s Nenara ‘Twice Dead’ Fen, Helmswoman of…I forget the boat’s name.” 

“Oi!” The woman bellowed. “Twas not a boat! ‘e was a ship, faster t’an—“ 

“A griffon’s flight, stronger than a dragon’s scale, yes yes.” Banal dismissed the outburst with a roll of his eyes and wave of his hand. “It’s probably nothing more than rotted wood now.” The woman glared like he was insulting her mother. “She’s a pirate and a thief, watch your things.” 

“Now now, I prefer t’e term acquirer and redistributor of rare pre-owned goods.” 

“What’s the difference?” Bull asked. 

“One will get ya ‘anged.” She stated calmly as she looked up at the Qunari. He waited for her to look surprised or scared or something like all the other elves here. But she remained calm as she went back to tying bandages. When she noticed he was watching her, she looked back. “W’at?” 

“You aren’t curious or surprised or anything?” He asked warily. 

“Nope.” She shrugged. “Ya aren’t t’e craziest t’ing I ever saw.” She shot a dirty glare over to Lotus who must have felt her deadly brown stare. 

“I told you not to mix that brandy with Dawn Lotus.” He defended. “Also told you not to drink that potion on an empty stomach but no one ever listens to me…” He continued to grumble illegibly into his mortar. 

“You know, emma lath, he does have a point. He told you. Twice.” Came a calm voice from one of the passageways. The woman had a beautiful blue cloth covering her eyes. Honey blonde braids woven into braids, little crystals lighting up here and there, hung around her face. Her staff hit the ground in front of her as she carefully made her was over to the pirate with more bandages. 

“And who are you?” Bull asked. 

“My wife.” Nenara glared up at the Qunari, obviously staking her claim. The other woman giggled softly. 

“You are so possessive.” She laughed as she gracefully folded her legs under her. 

“Of course, I ‘ave to protect—“ 

“Nenar,” Tahon interrupted from his spot on the steps, “If you make one of your bad pirate booty jokes, I will smack you upside the head so hard your future self will have a headache.” 

The woman just turned and stuck her tongue out childishly, while her wife shook her head. “My name is Rithara, one part of the Three Travelling Sisters.” 

“Also my wives.” Nenara interrupted with a frown. 

“Where are the other two?” Blackwall asked. 

“Dead.” Rithara spoke so calmly as though it had happened ages past rather than a few hours ago. 

“What did you and your sisters do exactly?” Morrigan inquired absently. 

“We entertained nobles mostly. They found us quite amusing. I’d sing, tell fortunes, occasionally do parlor tricks. My sister Nesiara would play the lute while Atheriel danced and did acrobatics.” She paused and then under her breath, “sick bastards.” 

“Zeyras.” A young blond man mumbled as An’nas stitched the gash in his side. The man winced as the other put a bit too much pressure on the wound. The look on his face said he thought he deserved that. 

There were a few minutes of awkward silence before Banal spoke up once more. He pointed to two people with the same mousy colored hair. “Brilwyn and Harros, daughter and father.” Harros had taken a sword through the chest while his daughter struggled to breathe with a collapsed lung. Banal doubted she would make it passed the night. “Harros was an old soldier who suddenly became a father.” 

He looked to the two twins now lying side by side. “Irenna and Cvenna were part of Sula’s mercenary group, but before that they were given to the Temple of Dirthamen, but refused to become priestesses.” His eyes wandered, scanning over the dead. His melancholy attitude came back. He knew them all. Now they’re dead. Without even knowing he was doing it, he began to recount all the dead. 

Nolahra was a withering advisor for some lordling despite him not having any interest in ruling. But his family had overthrown hers, killed her three sons, and kept her as a trophy, so she had to sit and play nice. Sometimes the woman frightened even Banal. If he had a grandmother, Nolahra was how he pictured her, scolding tone and all. Nevermind that he was considered a god. 

Shaenni was a gardener from some remote town. She had zero sense of direction and an ironic thirst for adventure that had eventually landed her at Banal’s doorstep. Along with her brother Sarris, who was foul-mouthed and foul-tempered compared to the woman who’d cuss in flower names, she learned how to fight and survive as she went along. 

Gethorn was a burly one-eyed bounty hunter who had chased Nehnlin all the way to this desert, despite the rogue having been pardoned and set free by King Fenrian. The two always had an uneasy alliance going on, but they’d drink together or talk about weapons with Tahon. 

Sarlasan was a follower of Dirthamen. She was intelligent, loving to read books, memorizing them in one sitting. She had eventually realized that the Creators were no more gods than she was and left her priesthood in favor of becoming a wandering scholar. She had then met up with Huros who had stood guard over burial grounds for many centuries. And was the source of a particular rumor regarding a certain elf who came back to life. 

All their stories flashed before Banal’s mind. And all those stories ended the same: dying at the hands of a demon who wanted Banal’s face. It wasn’t a noble death, not really. They were just toys for Envy to get the Inquisitor close. It was sickening. But before he could dwell on those thoughts he felt questioning eyes upon him. 

“No doubt you have questions for me.” He sighed. He leaned back in his throne. 

“The demon called you the Shadow of the Elvhenan…” Morrigan began before she turned to him. “Did the Dalish give you that name?” 

“I bore that name long before there was such a thing as a Dalish.” Banal chuckled. “Allow me to save all of us from the tragically cliché and tiring questions. I am Banal, born some…” He hesitated saying his age aloud, “thousands of years ago. I don’t remember my real name, my parents, or even where I was born. 

“What I do remember is starting a war against the egotistical Creators that ended with my death, only I didn’t die. At least not fully.” Banal’s voice was tired like he had explained this so many times he wanted to tear his hair out more than he wanted to do it again. “And yes I was the Forgotten One of this temple, the Shadow of the Elvhenan, for all the good it did me.” 

For a moment, everyone looked at him in silence. They had believed some wild things before, seen some wild things before, but this? This had to be the wildest. The Inquisitor…an ancient elven deity? The thought alone made them feel crazy. 

Banal snorted, knowing they were thinking him mad. “Did you not think it odd that I knew all these people? That I knew this temple so well? As though I’ve lived here for a thousand centuries or more? After all this place was all but lost to the sands, yet I knew not only its location but where every trap and hidden door was. I knew its history though no book or story or legend speaks of it.” 

He looked at Morrigan. “I knew of the eluvians and that we would find at least one here when not even you knew that. Strange yes?” 

“If what you say is true,” Morrigan began, “then you…” Her voice trailed off as anger sparked in her gold eyes. “You may be the last to know what truly happened. And yet you sit and do nothing while your people suffer?” 

“Do nothing?” He cocked an eyebrow. “And what would you have me do? Tell the Dalish who cling to what they’ve built from ashes that they are so far wrong the Elvhen would not consider them even a part of the same race? Tell them that their gods were nothing more than pompous assholes hellbent on domination?” The witch seemed to ignore him. 

“The Dalish tell tales of the Forgotten Ones. They were cruel, vile beings that fought often with the Creators until the Dread Wolf tricked both sides…” Morrigan whispered, interrupting the elf. If both the tale and the Inquisitor were true, then didn’t that make him some corrupted god? If so which one? Very few records tell of the Forgotten Ones and what they might have represented in the pantheon. 

Banal snorted and looked to Solas as he said, “The Dread Wolf didn’t do his job right apparently.” No one noticed how Solas’s jaw flexed or how he glared death at the Inquisitor. 

“Daisy told me a couple of stories about the Forgotten Ones, said they were gods of destruction and war and greed…” Varric said warily. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around Smiley being some ancient elf…Yet…half of this shit he couldn’t wrap his head around. 

“To those who believed us gods…yes. Our nature was dual sided of course.” 

“Dual sided?” 

“Fire is destruction. But it is also life. Without a wildfire wiping out a forest, there would be no new growth. Peace is won by war. Only at night can you see the stars.” Banal shrugged. 

“And what were you?” Morrigan asked bluntly. 

Banal’s gaze slid over to her. “What does it matter? I am the Inquisitor now.” He knew the outcome of telling them what he was. He was darkness, destruction, everything that was vile and most base. He was fear, greed, pride, rage, despair, and lust. 

“You’re asking us to believe a lot without you being insufferably vague.” She huffed. 

“I ask you nothing. Whether you believe me or not is up to you. Whatever I was, I am now Inquisitor, and that should satisfy you.” 

Dorian wasn’t sure what was better: the fact that Banal denied nothing yet confirmed nothing or that none of this sounded as crazy when you thought about it. Did he believe the elf to be some ancient god? No. That would be absurd. Banal knew much about old things sure, seemed to have knowledge beyond his years, but the age span he was talking about meant he would be older than Xenon and he was a withered husk. Banal showed no sign of age. 

But he had heard tales of dreamers being able to access old memories (as Solas was so keen to always point out) in the Fade. Perhaps Banal had tapped into some old elven god’s memories. If the entity was powerful enough to be a god, it could stand to reason, whoever “Banal” was before would be wiped away and replaced by Banal the God. 

That was how Dorian was going to explain it at least. 

Not that either option spoke well of their Inquisitor. Or weren’t crazy. 

“Read the inscriptions then, Crow, if you are set on finding out.” Banal’s growl snapped him back to reality. The elf was locked in a death glare with the sorceress. Neither were relenting, and at this moment he wasn’t sure they should be prodding the Inquisitor. Aside from the fact that he just saw most of his friends die, his chest was still blotted with bruises and cuts and he had to have a headache. 

Morrigan muttered something under breath before turning and marching to one of the inscriptions to try and figure out the answer to her questions. 

“Now any other stupid questions?” Banal didn’t even wait for an answer. “No? Good.” He stood up from the throne in haste. The dead were no properly prepared. Sentinels had their heads removed, skin burned away, and their skulls placed in the walls. Others, ones who had no reason to fight, had been cleaned and the balms applied. The only thing left was to bury them. 

And tradition, one that stood long before all that surrounded this place was desert, spoke of only one way to bury them and their souls. 

He told the others to start bringing the dead as he walked through the archway to his right. “Come, let me show you something.” Banal’s voice was quiet as he addressed the Inquisition. Not wanting to be left alone amongst the dead and the skulls, they followed. 

The dark hallway eventually opened up and took away their breaths. 

A miniature marsh lay hidden in the desert, protected by the Temple walls lined with bookcases. Walkways made of metal that mimicked vines crossed over it, made little areas where stone benches and tables sat. The vines and plants had overgrown most of it, cracking mosaics and destroying frescos. Statues were completely covered in greenery that bloomed odd flowers. Things that looked like Crystal Grace but glowed, elfroot, different mosses (some of which also glowed), lotuses and other plants that were not known grew everywhere. 

Water cascaded down the far right wall. The ceiling had a metal grate over it that would’ve let in the sun from far above their heads, but now nature had covered it, blanketing the world below in shadows and green light. 

And in the middle of it all was Banal. He looked around with a sad smile, one that spoke of happiness marred by pain. He was home, he thought as he took in a deep breath. Much of the second story was completely gone and the plants had overtaken the place, but he was home. 

He wasn’t accustomed to the feeling of relief and comfort that came over him. Just as he wasn’t used to the grief that burned in his heart. He looked down into the still crystal clear waters, seeing only a few faces there. They’d be adding more. 

Still he turned to his companions, “Welcome to my home.” 

***** 

A few minutes after Banal showed them to the room, the other elves began to bring in their dead. It was a solemn feeling. Watching them, it was clear they were preparing a funeral as they laid the bodies beside the swamp waters. 

Death, sadness, and pain hung in the air. Even the plants seemed to be mourning. The ones that glowed dimmed or closed completely. The mist that wrapped around them suddenly seemed suffocating. No one spoke, yet they all knew what to do. 

The Inquisition companions watched from the sides. The elves stood still for a moment, just looking at their dead. This was but a fraction of what they lost, only those who were high enough in rank or did not fight had the honor of being lowered into the waters. Most others would be buried in the sand. Though this time that seemed unrealistic. Too many had fallen and too few remained to bury them all. 

But to prevent pestilence, they needed to be tended to. Which meant they would have to burn their bodies, as much as that sickened them. They could only hope their friends’ souls forgave them. 

Rithara was the one to break the silence. Her voice danced through the air as she sang softly. Others joined her in the dirge. The ones who did not, began carrying the bodies to someone who stepped into the waters. They took them and carried them underneath the walkways where it began to get deeper and guided the dead down to where they would lie. 

***** 

Banal slipped away easily when everyone turned their focus to the dead. He walked down the twisting halls in silence, hoping to get away before…He didn’t want to hear that song. Or see anything or feel anything really. 

Instead he walked to the hall of mirrors. Inside was just as dark as he remembered it. No crystals were there, no holes in the ceiling. The only light came from the two braziers on either side of the door. That light shone on all the black eluvians. He had forgotten he once had this many. 

They varied in complexity. Some he crafted to be simple, just a now tarnished silver frame. Others were far more ornate, though none as ornate as the one he walked to. Falon’Din’s. The gold was tarnished now, parts chipping off. Some elements had worn away. But the mirror was still intact. 

Banal’s hand shook as he raised it. His fingertips brushed the glass. And nothing happened. He felt no magic in it. It had broken. The being it was connected to gone. He wasn’t sure what he had wanted to happen, but this hurt. He shook, pressing his palm against it. 

The song drifted to him as though mocking him. This deep in the Temple and he could still hear it. The voices ripped at him, tearing away what little defenses he had left. His eyes squeezed shut. Pain bloomed inside his chest. A deep chasm suddenly opened inside him and he fell into it. 

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the glass. He had watched thousands die in battle and yet this one hurt more than the rest. He could see the lives that were taken. He knew the lives. He knew the smiles, the laughs, the tears, he knew everything. And it left his world darker. 

Banal was sick of death. 

He had the feeling that he had this thought before. Sometime in his life, he had felt all the blood on his hands, the lives he had taken on his heart, and longed for his own death. Just so he didn’t have to watch anyone else die. Tears slipped passed his eyelids. 

He felt pathetic. He was stronger than these thoughts. He should know nothing of grief. He fought in battles, led people to their deaths before. It was all necessary. 

His fists clenched. This wasn’t fucking necessary. A growl ripped its way out of his throat. Banal slammed his fist against the mirror. Pain shot up his arm. Cracks spiraled out from the impact. He did it again and again. Glass tore his flesh, staining the mirror crimson. 

No one needed to die here. No one deserved to die here. 

A sob choked him as his arm hung limp at his side. Blood slid across his skin and dropped steadily to the floor. Slowly he slid to the ground. 

Alone, he gave himself over to the grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you all thought I killed off the two beings who make Banal humane! Actually the reason why this took forever was I wrote two versions, one with Vhena dead and one with Vhena alive. And I couldn't figure out which I like more so...Alive!Vhena is brought to you by the heads side of my decision coin (I kid you not. About 80% of the plot decisions are decided by a coin or a draw from a hat).
> 
> Technically this and the next chapter should be one but...enough cliffhangers right?
> 
> More importantly I still don't know what Varric is going to call Soralan, Tahon, Nenar and An'nas! Everyone else was easy to think of nicknames for, but those four elude me. Anyone have suggestions? Like holy hogmonkeys it's bothering me that I can't think of simple nicknames. 
> 
> OH and...I'm going to do the Trespasser DLC. I have to. HAVE TO. But to warn you all most likely there will be a large gap between this story and it.
> 
> I've also decided that if there is another Dragon Age game, I might resurrect Banal's story (between the end of this and then though is a long time). Or I might pass the torch to Vhena, An'nas or Tahon (I love the idea of Tahon being the one to stand against Fen'Harel for now obvious reasons...)
> 
> [Vhena got a makeover too!](http://nolifequeen1663.deviantart.com/art/DA-I-Vhena-The-Necromancer-538805071)


	24. Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Banal's secret is out of the bag. He couldn't possibly be hiding anything else right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one note. Banal got [ new armor](http://aeantizlkamenwati.deviantart.com/art/DA-I-Banal-Original-Armor-567735968) and you should totally check it out because there's no way to describe it in all its glory without five paragraphs...
> 
> Thank you to everyone. You are all very patient and wonderful to talk to. I'm so sorry for the wait! Stupid society saying I have to adult and be miserable. But I managed to fix a plot hole! 
> 
> Also very long chapter and one gory part.

Morrigan had stared at these inscriptions for so long she wasn’t even reading them anymore, just reciting what she already knew. Like all Elvhen things, they were vague, pointless mantras or codes to follow. Not one detailed the history of the place. 

And none of the elves were willing to talk about it. Most of them had limped off somewhere, only returning with packs before leaving again. The Inquisitor was nowhere to be found and he had already dismissed her questions. 

For the umpteenth time, Morrigan cursed under her breath. She doubted much of what the Inquisitor said, but there was a part of her that knew him true. He was a man that had seen countless things, each one marking him in ways no mortal could understand. His magic was ancient, she felt that. It was vast and endless, drawing from something so ancient it didn’t feel real. 

But he was still a stubborn elf who refused to help her gain knowledge, to use that knowledge and preserve it. He seemed content to squat on old glory, past prejudices, and do nothing about the here and now with his own people. 

Her fingers skimmed over the words once more, lingering on one in particular. Many of them had the same word, and it kept ringing bells inside her head. Banal’han. The Place of Nothing. These ones were not as old as the others that spoke of the Vir Banal’ras. 

Morrigan kept running her fingers over it, as though some memory the stone had would rub off on her. Banal’han. Banal’han. The Place of Nothing…For a moment she recalled a Dalish talking to Tabris about how they thought the Blight happened. 

Her blood ran cold. Banal’han, the place of nothing where the Blight started. Surely this was not that place? 

She opened up her third eye, letting her magic look around. No. It didn’t feel like the Deep Roads. The elves didn’t feel like darkspawn. But there was something similar. Of course, she was no Warden. She could have just sensed the darkness. 

And she hoped that was it. 

***** 

Banal stared up into the darkness. His eyes were stinging, his throat raw, and his head was stuffy. Pain pulsed in his hand as it lay on his stomach. But aside from those things he felt nothing. He thought nothing. 

He couldn’t tell you how long he spent just staring at the ceiling only that at some point he ended up on his back. It was so quiet now he could hear the ringing in his ears. He should probably go back. Still a darkspawn magister to kill and a Warden to meet. But his body would not move. He knew that passed this room, he’d see the scattered few who survived. He’d see all the old haunts of people now dead. Stupid fucking memory anyway. 

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to block out his thoughts. Probably smeared blood all over his face too. His fingernails clawed into his scalp. He tugged at his hair. Sharp needles of pain danced through his mind, clearing it some, but not ridding him of the grief. 

Banal gritted his teeth. If he didn’t move now, he’d never stop grieving. He had eternity for that after all. So he did the only thing he could think of to make it all stop. 

He gathered everything, the hurt, the guilt, the sadness, and shoved it into a box in his mind. Locking the box, he threw it into some corner of his mind. Hopefully it landed behind that wall and he wouldn’t have to remember it anymore. He braced himself with his hands, ripping open the cuts on the one. He didn’t care. Didn’t want to care. 

He stood. He could deal with anger, use it even. Everything else was unnecessary and unwanted. He thought back to how he was in the beginning. He wanted nothing but death and fear. It was time he returned to that. 

Banal nodded to himself. His eyes drifted to the mirror beside him. Images of the Creator flashed, rattling the box. He clenched his bloody fist before shoving it through the delicate glass. Shards ripped through his arm. His muscles twitched with the numbing pain. He walked from the room without a backwards glance. 

Yes it was time he returned to what he was. 

At least then nothing hurt. 

***** 

He wandered through the hallways. Each step took him farther from that box, hardening himself. His body ached, reminding him that he was in no way recovered from summoning a varterral into this mundane world. 

Funny. He could recall it being easier to create those beasts before. But…it had taken most of his strength to summon just one. The world was less malleable and he couldn’t quite recall why. Just that a sharp pain stabbed just behind his left eye whenever he thought about it too much. 

His hand still bled. What little magic he had left in him was hardened around his heart, willing it to remain steady. He would recover quickly if he slept. The only thing was he doubted anyone would realize he was just sleeping for a week straight and not dead. Apparently mortals did not hibernate to heal. That was a design flaw really. 

Banal chuckled mirthlessly as his feet carried him to an old haunt. The armory. Cobwebs caught dust and sand nearly everywhere. Armor and weapons scattered about the room. Everything from spears to axes to whips lay about in their set areas. 

His eye caught on something in the far corner. The crystals that lit up at his presence shimmered against the white armor. It caught on the hard planes, making it glisten with colors underneath the dust. Old battle scars decorated the plain surface of the chest plate, better than any ornamentation. 

How long had it been since he wore it? Since before his first death, surely. He reached out, trailing a finger along a particular gash in the iridescent metal. He had a brief flash of a battlefield and a white Hart with black stripes. He blinked it away. This armor was older, better crafted than the guardian armor he wore for Falon’Din. This was made specifically for him. It would do. 

Banal winced as he slid off his tunic and stripped down to his leather pants. The Temple was cold as always, but it felt nice against his too hot skin. Carefully he put on his hauberk, blacker than a moonless night, and as strong as a dragon’s plating. His chest labored against the extra weight, but it was lighter than most human constructions. Beyond that it fit like a second skin with a leather padding inside to prevent it from catching on his skin. 

Then the cuirass. Then the tassets, and rerebraces, all designed to look like metal feathers, black with white scattered throughout. He was quite thankful he had donned armor by himself countless times and knew which pins to pull for the easiest dressing. He skipped the left rerebrace; he was particularly attached to his dragon armor after all. It would be simple to combine the two. 

Next the vambraces and right clawed gauntlet. The metal feathers were arranged in such a way that mobility wasn’t compromised and should he punch something (or someone) he could do far more damage than a normal gauntlet. Blades could be caught in between the feathers or slide off, depending on the direction. Useful for someone who fights with a pole arm. 

It was harder to breathe with the cuirass. His chest struggled to expand with the pressure on all the bruising. But he’d manage. He took a steadying breath. It was odd to see white on himself, yet…it felt normal? 

He shook his head and grabbed the surcoat. The white dragon hide jacket reached his knees in two deadly black points. The armor’s matching pauldrons, ones that slowly became more white as they went to the back, attached to it settled over his shoulders easily. He fastened the silver chain in front of his chest, put in the pins connecting the arm armor. He pushed the hood back, settling it. 

His left hand was now bleeding again, but it just fell off the white braided dragon hide greaves as he put them on. And with that he felt once more like himself. He let out a sigh before leaving the old room. He supposed he should see what everyone else was doing… 

Not that he couldn’t guess. They were probably gathering their things for a mass exodus. He snorted. He had held this place for over five millennia and a bunch of mortals drove him from it. The irony of fate was cruel and bitter to swallow. 

No matter. Banal did not intend to abandon his home. Not with so many things lost here. Perhaps he could rebuild. It seemed to be the only plausible option he had left. After all, now that key members of the Inquisition knew vaguely who he was, what he was, he doubted they’d allow him to remain after Corypheus was dead. He could probably look forward to being spied on after Leliana and Cullen read the reports. 

It did make him wonder though. How were they going to cover this up? They couldn’t exactly let the masses know their Inquisitor was a Forgotten One, or even an ancient elf. Who would believe that? The Chantry would twist it to make it seem like he was a demon (not that they haven’t tried that already) and probably find some way to blame the Dalish. The Dalish would either disown him or try to kill him. He was worse than a magister to them. 

Banal snickered to himself. So his only real option was to leave before the celebrations were done. And this Temple was the only real place he had to go. Much of it, he noted as he walked through the sandy halls, had fallen into disarray. But a spell here, an enchantment there and everything would be fixed. Assuming Banal’s magic recovered from all this. 

On that note, Banal reached out, making the halls grow dark as he passed through them. The less magic used in the Temple, the more he’d have…eventually. Right now if he were to increase his mana, he’d suffer or quite possibly die from the overload on his already strained body. 

And no one wanted that. 

Banal told himself, this was only temporary. Once he had done what he needed to do, he would return here and everything could return to his version of normal: plotting to end everything through subtle nudges and perhaps no small amount of seduction. His Temple would be repaired and he wouldn’t have to freeze his ass off on some mountain. 

Things would be simple again. 

***** 

It was fascinating. Stones sung with magic, even the various flora seemed to radiate power. It would certainly explain why millennia old plants that obviously weren’t desert plants could survive. Those plants were the object of two curious mages’ ponderings. 

Morrigan and Dorian argued over what the strange almost bluish vines were that covered one wall. Bizarre, fragrant flowers shaped like nautilus shells decorated them. Some petals were yellow around the edges but faded to reddish purple around the middle. Others were a pale blue with bluish purple. Neither of them knew much about it, but they still argued whether it was the poisonous plant of legends. Said to be able to drop a dragon with but a few drops. 

Other plants were soon drawn into the discussion. One was highly fragrant and looked to be similar to a dahlia. Only this one grew on some luminescent moss. Its center glowed gently, lighting up fog that was trapped between its petals. Could a petal of it really cure any disease? 

Or the one that Dorian could swear was a passion flower with odd nearly lyrium blue hair petals around its core. Little wisps floated around the odd protrusion in its center (which glowed a soft green). Supposedly it was a mild sedative flower that had been destroyed by the First Blight. 

Or the strange turquoise claw like flowers that smelled sweet. Nectar within them was supposed to be a narcotic more potent than even Dawn Lotus. And then there were the more common plants. Near white wisteria hung from the ceiling in only one area away from the waterfall. Lilies of all kinds grew on moss or around the water as did lotuses. There was even another tree in one corner of the room! 

How did any of this survive? There were plants here that their modern day descendants survived in far different climates. 

Neither mage could answer the questions, but still argued whether this plant was related to that or the possible uses for this one. It was just something to do since they were stuck here until the sun set. And as the elves were busy packing, they couldn’t exactly get answers. 

“Why are you arguing over botany?” stopped their newest bout. Both turned to see Banal with a cocked eyebrow emerging from a doorway to their left that was previously obscured by hanging moss. Morrigan glared at him before sauntering off. 

Dorian smiled, “How could we not? With so many fascinating plants here…” He trailed off as the Inquisitor walked into the light. He had cleaned off a lot of the blood, and gotten new armor? It was old, if the dents and scratches were to be believed, and pure white. A white that glimmered many different colors and contrasted with the splashes of black. But the elf looked despondent, red around his distant eyes…and his hand was bleeding. 

Immediately the human’s eyes fell on the blood. It was slow, many areas not bleeding at all. But it was still injured. Where had the elf gone off to and gotten injured? Dorian frowned as he took a step forward, grabbing that hand. The elf stiffened at the sudden contact, but let the Altus look over the cuts that went up his arm. 

“What in the world did you do? Punch a mirror?” Dorian snipped. Banal hid his wince. Fingers rough from using a staff brushed over his skin lightly, looking for splinters. For a moment, Banal stared at their hands. How different they were. Dorian’s golden skin against his own pale olive, was just a minor difference. Dorian’s hands were larger, with less finger. One couldn’t see the ligaments move on the back of his hand. 

Beyond that, Banal noted. His nails were different. They were claws anymore. The black had faded to just a faint line near his nail bed... 

Banal startled at fingers brushing along his jaw. His eyes blinked before looking at Dorian’s. There was a strange twinge in his chest at the concern he saw there. It shouldn’t be there. 

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked quietly as he cupped the Inquisitor’s face. 

“I am fine.” Came Banal’s automatic answer. It sounded dead, flat, a blatant lie. One the human immediately scowled at. He rubbed his thumb along the elf’s cheek. He didn’t really care that some of the elves were eyeing him oddly. He got similar looks at Skyhold. 

“Really? Because your eyes are red, you’re bleeding, and…” Dorian paused looking down at the water where the bodies had gone, “have had one hellish day.” Banal’s eyes followed his. Dorian looked at the elf, watching pain and sadness flicker behind his eyes. It almost seemed like he was going cry. It hurt to see that. Maferath’s useless balls, Dorian was getting too deep. 

He ran his hand through the shorter hair Banal sported. The elf turned his attention back to him as he did it again. The hair was getting longer, brushing his ears and was in desperate need to be washed (not that they had any option unless Banal used his power as Inquisitor to demand a bath tub be brought everywhere like some nobles do). 

Dorian rested his hand against the elf’s cheek again. He tried to will Banal into discarding that useless pride and stubbornness that he was hiding behind all the time. To his surprise, the Inquisitor leaned into his touch, turning his head so that his nose brushed Dorian’s wrist. 

Banal allowed himself to take comfort in that small gesture. He could almost pretend he didn’t have to fight or act stronger. He could just be…he couldn’t say he could be himself when himself was just a thousand titles that meant nothing to him. But it felt normal…So perhaps he could say he could just be him. Whoever him was. 

Sounds of people shook him from that thought. He couldn’t appear to be weak. Not when he was the first person everyone looked to. His problems were his to bear. And these particular problems were best to push away and deal with them never. 

Banal jerked his head away from Dorian’s touch before he could fall deeper. He averted his eyes, missing the flicker of hurt that flashed in the human’s eyes. Dorian could almost feel a wall come slamming down as the elf repeated himself, “I am fine.” 

Dorian’s hand fell away. 

Banal turned towards the rest of the room. His eyes surveyed the place. Some followers, those injured like Soralan and Zeyras, though the latter had no doubt tried to assist and told not to if his fidgeting was to be considered, were milling around near the packs. Others would appear briefly to place new packs down before scurrying away to get more. Vhena and Lotus worked carefully on the plants, extracting seeds and pollen, juices and leaves. 

Samahlnan and An’nas were going through the bookcases that lined the north walls here. Most books would have been badly damaged from age and weather. The spells that protected them must have worn away centuries ago. But some had fared well enough all things considering. 

Suddenly a thought lit up in Banal’s head. He should still have that…somewhere. It would help him keep greedy little shemlen scholars from being able to come here and shemlen lords from laying claim to what was his. He didn’t think the humans would really care about an ancient piece of paper that said Banal owned most if not all of the Western Approach and a section of Nevarra, let alone honor it. But it allowed him a legitimate claim to it. 

Besides when had he ever cared to ask if he could have something? 

“Zeyras,” Banal called. The former slave jumped as though Banal’s voice was a master’s whip. He immediately bowed low, addressing the floor rather than Banal. 

“Yes, my lord?” Banal hated when he did that. It had taken him two years to get the boy to stop dropping to his knees and touching his head to the ground each time Banal was around or spoke to him. And while this was less dramatic, it was still annoying. 

Banal let out a long breath through his nose to keep from yelling at the boy. He was born a slave, submission was bred into him, and, as much as Banal hated to admit it, the dark elf hadn’t always worked to train it out of him. In fact, at times, he encouraged it more than he should’ve. 

“ _I require some assistance locating the papers that give me this land. Last I remember they were in my study._ ” Banal kept his voice even, calm. Zeyras’s eyes finally lifted. They were their cognac color Samyra and Saviik preferred. His natural eye color was far too unsettling for them. 

“ _Ma nuvenin. I will go search for them immediately, my lord,_ ” The boy said quickly. He obviously hadn’t forgotten his role in Vhena’s death, well near death anyway. 

“Good,” was all Banal said before he turned his attention elsewhere. “Nehnlin, _garas._ ” The blond turned his head at his name. He set down his box and walked over to the man he knew since he was a child. He had changed out of his heavy armor and into his fennec fur robes that were more suited for travelling. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you feel up to flying?” Had Banal not been used to the one-eyed rogue, he might have missed the cocked eyebrow. 

“I think I can manage a small form. Why?” He asked skeptically. 

“I need you to take a message to the Inquisition camp not far from here. They need to be warned. And I require some help getting something out of here.” 

“Oh?” That was Samahlnan. She was obviously eavesdropping as she always did. “And what might that be, my lord?” 

“An eluvian.” The stunned silence that fell over the room he might as well said a high dragon. Morrigan in particular seemed shocked. 

“You are going to bring that eluvian? To Skyhold?” She sputtered. 

“You said yourself that it was corrupted,” Cassandra pointed out. Banal could only sigh, very loudly. Why did shemlen have to be so…jumpy? Oh this is something new! We haven’t seen this before! It could kill someone! Destroy it! Lock it away! 

“Beyond that it is very large,” Dorian said quietly. Banal turned to look at him. That part of Banal that always sensed things that were hidden in people’s hearts felt off. Like the mage was hurt or hiding something. But he couldn’t understand what or why. 

“No, I don’t mean that one. If I took it, the Temple would be…cut off, disconnected.” Banal furrowed his eyebrows, as he couldn’t quite explain it. But that large mirror was sort of the one to rule all others. Any eluvian he had outside the Temple would always lead to that one, though they had shortcuts. Sort of the main road that all roads connect to. “I was thinking one of the dark ones.” He turned back to his people. 

“Dark ones?” Blackwall asked. This day just kept getting weirder and weirder. 

“Ones whose pair has been broken or damaged.” Soralan helpfully explained next to the Warden. “Think of eluvians like passes on roads. If either end of the pass is blocked, you have to find another way around.” Blackwall frowned. The metaphor made sense if he didn’t think about these mirrors being roads. That was just too much magic for his head to understand. How did mages keep up with all this shit? 

“So one of the smaller ones then?” Sulahn’mi asked. 

“Any one will do really, we just have to be able to carry it out of this desert.” Banal shrugged. 

“We could build a makeshift sled,” An’nas suggested, “to avoid having to use more magic than necessary.” 

“That requires beasts to pull it, brother.” Vhena chirped. 

“We have a few mounts who could pull it, so long as it is not overly heavy.” Cassandra noted. She had already begun writing a note of all that had happened here before she forgot. She could and would have to turn it into a report for the soldiers they left at camp. They did need to be forewarned that they were going to get a small group of elves…Maker’s breath how were they going to ration their food now that their numbers nearly doubled? 

“I’ve hunted for more than that before.” Nehnlin scoffed as though he was insulted she doubted him. The Seeker blinked as she realized she voiced her concerns aloud. “Hope you humans aren’t finicky.” 

The Seeker frowned at the rogue who smiled behind his face mask, though none of them could tell who hadn’t known him for eons. “Hardly.” No one wanted to mention Vivienne and Dorian, the latter didn’t even complain. 

“Don’t feed the humans people, Nehnlin.” Vhena scolded. 

“I have never, I repeat, I have **never** fed you another person before.” Nehnlin rolled his eye like he has had this conversation numerous times. Vhena kept her playful smirk. 

“Uh-huh, forgive me for not taking a graverobber’s word.” 

“Hey the dead don’t need things! And besides if I had wanted to serve you a person, the Lowers and Guardians would’ve eaten them before I could even get it to the kitchens.” Aaaand suddenly Varric and the others felt like swearing off meat. 

Banal seemed undisturbed by it, like he knew. Which he did. The Lowers, those who he did not seek out or were not powerful, weren’t skilled or powerful enough to subsist off of sleep alone. The Guardians…well that was a ritual of a sorts Banal couldn’t remember when it started. Something about taking the darkness inside you. Huros could’ve explained more, but his head could do no more talking. 

“Write your letter, I’ll see it delivered.” Nehnlin interrupted his thoughts. 

Banal nodded as then the ones who had run out of things to pack began to fashion a sled. It would make carrying the mirror easier, as well as the packs. Granted with the eluvian, they could just leave everything but essentials and come back for it. Which was what Banal planned to do. After all, he’d collected far too many books to leave them all to rot now. 

As he looked around at his home, suddenly feeling like he was losing it, he noticed something. Samahlnan would stop, tilt her head as though listening, frown, and then move to another spot. Rithara kept moving her head like she did when she listened to echoes. 

“Is something wrong, da’ras?” Banal called to the blood mage. She started, as though he snapped her out of one of her illusions. 

“Where are all the shadows?” She asked plainly. “I cannot see them and I do not hear them.” Bull refrained from commenting on how the blood mage claimed to see things. Don’t do blood magic kids. 

“I beg pardon,” Dorian finally spoke up, “shadows? You hear shadows?” Blood magic was a sore spot for him. And if this didn’t prove why you shouldn’t use it, then he didn’t know what would. 

“Sama is…what you’d call a Dreamer,” Banal explained slowly, “Only she has a…condition that allows her mind to be both awake and in the Fade.” 

“So…she sees shadows?” Bull asked skeptically. 

“Spirits, but to her they appear as shadows in this world.” 

“Right that just makes me feel all safe.” The Qunari grumbled under his breath. Samahlnan rolled her eyes, for once being able to hear beyond the spirits’ chatter. Everyone was afraid of blood magic because they didn’t like being in control of themselves. Well, that’s exactly why she used it, to be in control, so really they were just encouraging her. 

“I cannot hear the Beyond’s call either.” Rithara said quietly. “There is…a barrier that wasn’t there before…” 

“Agreed. Did any of you feel how hard it was to cast spells?” Soralan asked. 

“Felt like somet’ing was pushing back.” Nenara commented. 

Banal frowned. Tahon fidgeted. He kept glancing over at Solas, trying to read him. Of course he didn’t expect his father to give up any kind of secret so easily, but the duelist could make a very good guess as to what happened. 

“It feels like a Veil.” Tahon said quietly, interrupting. Everyone looked at him. “A Veil like what I do, but…on a larger scale.” Some of the people who had sparred with the Wolfen Prince nodded, but others tilted their heads. Tahon sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I weave magic into a tangible force around an enemy. It puts a…a barrier between them and the Fade, so…harder to cast spells. Or…I smash it down on them or draw them to one area…” 

Banal’s frown deepened. It hurt to try and think about what they were talking about. A part of him felt like what they said was true. The air was thicker, harder to pull things through. But then his head said no, they didn’t know what they were talking about. 

“Something wrong, lethallin?” Lotus asked at the Inquisitor’s glare. 

“I…don’t remember…” Banal said absently. His head was starting to hurt as though trying to retrace steps that had already been redone. 

The Lotusmaker looked puzzled as well, scratching his head. “Did you do a memory spell with someone?” Memory spells, or really any spell dealing with the mind (like some illusion spells) were tricky. Some worked on some people while others did not. And then there was always a chance of screwing with something that shouldn’t be screwed with. 

“Keeper Deshanna, yes.” 

The black eyed man nodded. “Well then her memory overrode yours because I can guarantee you this world is far more weird than when I went to sleep.” 

Varric wanted to groan in frustration. He thought listening to Chuckles and Sparkler was bad and hurt his head with all the magic. This? This was on a whole other level. Like Corypheus and the Breach level. Bull had just decided everyone here was crazy as shit and the ancient elves were either just as crazy or they were demons. Which meant they were crazy. 

Cassandra felt uneasy with all this. She knew better than to discount things that were being said, but she didn’t know how much to believe. Like a memory spell? What is that? How was that even remotely possible? If it was possible, it didn’t bode well. She was already allowing one blood mage to stand near her. 

Solas was surprised. Banal had yet to try and cover anything up. In fact, he didn’t even hide anything. He didn’t confirm anything of course, but he wasn’t trying to hide his connection to this dark place. The question was how he was going to explain all this in his report. How were any of them going to explain this? 

It was Dorian, though, who had to ask, “A memory spell? Such things were only in myths.” He got some of his excitement back. He had read old wives tales of people who could delve into your mind and take your memories. He always thought it to be blood magic in disguise. Perhaps it was. 

“Quite the contrary. Such spells were quite common in our time.” Tahon shrugged. “When an Elder went to sleep and woke again, they’d use those spells to catch up on all they needed to know. Like reading a book without all the hassle.” 

“They are tricky, though,” Lotus added, “people who aren’t trained in them can either impose or be imposed upon.” He motioned to Banal. Dorian was going to assume the untrained person in this context was the Keeper. Otherwise the Inquisitor might have strangled the other elf. 

Morrigan then joined in, prompting a long line of questioning that pretty much everyone who wasn’t involved to tune out. Most of them moved to more pressing concerns, like the sled or the packing. 

“You do realize that with the eluvian we don’t have to pack the whole place, yes?” Banal absently commented. 

“Well we have to have certain things otherwise we’re going to break your humans.” Samahlnan chuckled. “And your dwarf and your dragon man.” 

“Qunari.” 

“Dragon man.” 

“Qunari.” Banal growled. The assassin smiled sweetly. 

“With all due respect, my lord, he has horns like a dragon, is large like a dragon, and could break me in half like a dragon—“ 

“A small gust of wind could break you, love,” Nenara called out as she started down a hallway. 

Samahlnan glared with her piercing blue eyes, continuing with feigned annoyance, “Therefore he is a dragon man.” 

The Bull rather liked that comparison. If she wanted to call his people dragon people, she was welcome to. It was better than oxmen any day. 

Banal sighed loudly and shook his head. “And what pray tell are you packing to ensure we don’t kill the shemlen?” 

“Water skins, clothes, weapons, cooking things, Sula’s fans, things to mend other things, things Zeyras insists he needs, whatever the hell Lotus thinks he needs…I’m pretty sure Nenar is smuggling in some of her ‘acquired’ goods.” Sama shrugged. 

“Of course do you expect her to leave anything of hers behind?” An’nas laughed, setting down a pack. He had his lute strapped to his back along with his pair of ironbark daggers. 

“We can hope,” Nehnlin rolled his eye. “Your warrior says the message is ready.” 

“Very good, to the east should be a small camp. Be sure to stay in form, we don’t wish to frighten everyone half to death…again.” 

***** 

Soralan watched as everyone bustled about. Nenara, Rithara, and Arvaan were gently lowering the chosen eluvian down onto the sled made of old boards tied with vines. The mirror’s metallic vines had tarnished to the point of being black as they wove together into a filigree-like frame. Smaller shards of the mirror still shone through them, reflecting back the world that their magical counterpart did not. 

Even Zeyras who had taken rather horrible slash to the chest was helping, sorting somethings into different packs to be put on the sled it seemed. Yet the Liar stood in his shadow, watching. He felt unbalanced, both physically and spiritually or perhaps emotionally. 

How long had they even been together? Six, seven centuries? It felt like a lifetime. He supposed to the mortals it was several. Still his heart felt it was too short. He knew Ververa to be better off, she had not awoken to see all their friends butchered after all. But it didn’t keep it from hurting any less. He could deal with no longer having an arm. It wasn’t like he had lost both his legs. He could still cast spells, fight, and do other things…just with more difficulty. He liked challenges. 

But being alive when his best friend, his mate who was the only one who knew him for him? He might as well have lost his head. His eyes drifted down to the water were he could see her resting peacefully. 

He felt Banal’s presence more than he heard him approach. Both of them moved with a quietness reserved for master thieves and spirits, but the dark elf’s power always announced him. It was a loud buzzing or humming to Soralan’s ears usually, though this time he just felt a tickle behind them. 

“ _You know, lethallin, you could join her,_ ” Banal kept his voice quiet, watching the water as well, “ _none would think less of you._ ” After twins (both physical and soul), bondmates were the most…connected. Losing one sometimes meant losing both, even if one still lived. Other times the living carried on. It was really hard to tell. 

Soralan stared into the waters at his wife’s face. He knew that around his age he really should strongly consider going into Uthenera…the permanent kind. After all there was just so much old bones could do. He was still amazed Banal was able to walk around. 

Alright that was a lie. Given the amount of magic the other elf had, it wasn’t a surprise his body was able to cope with being so old. 

But…Ververa had always been there, pushing him through all the madness his position held. His was a position that felt like a constant trek uphill pushing a boulder in the rain. He kept slipping on the muddy surface. But she was right behind him, to brace him and help push the boulder back up. He’d be insulting her if he didn’t at least see this new world for her. 

Soralan got a crooked grin, flashing a few of his chipped teeth. “ _If I did that, I’d never hear the end of it from her when I got there._ ” 

***** 

The trek out of the Temple was no less unsettling than the trek in. The gloom still hung around them like it seeped into the stones. As they walked, the crystals dimmed like they were saying goodbye and then not waiting for them to leave before shutting the door on their faces. Some of them not gifted with night vision kept tripping over bodies or debris, cursing the ones who could see when they laughed. 

Their new travel companions didn’t make it any less creepy. They all walked without a sound. Sure you could hear the faint jingle of someone’s armor, but that was probably Cassandra or Blackwall. Varric was between Sulahn’mi and Soralan and couldn’t hear a damn thing come from them. 

But they kept going through the side passages in hopes of seeing that blessing known as ‘outside’. Because outside sounded fantastic. Even if outside meant miles and miles of desert, it was better than being trapped in the maze known as Banal’han. 

And when that first blast of fresh air came in from the Temple doors, the Inquisition members felt like they had died and gone to heaven. They all but ran for the entrance, leaving the elves a bit confused. If Sera had been there, she’d’ve dropped to her knees and been equal parts ridiculous and dramatic. 

To make up for her absence, Bull took a loud, deep breath. “Finally air without blood.” The elvhen all cocked an eyebrow at them looking so relieved to be outside. Did the shemlen know this was a desert? Who the hell is happy about being in a desert, away from a place that’s cool and has fresh water? Who the hell? 

The moons were just starting to rise above the horizon, stars danced over the sky. The sands turned into snow both in appearance and soon in temperature. Even the sulfur pits looked ethereal at that moment. 

“It wasn’t that bad.” An’nas quipped, seeing the happy expressions the humans wore. 

“Speckles, I think I have mold growing in my lungs, now.” Varric countered. An’nas blinked. 

“S-speckles?” The young elf furrowed his brow just saying it. Tahon started to cough on his snickers, trying very hard not to smile. He failed. His bondmate gave him a glare that said ‘Laugh and lightning will smite your ass.’ 

“Your hair is very speckly.” Arvaan snorted as he, Sulahn’mi, Nehnlin, and Nenara moved the eluvian’s sled out onto the bridge. 

“Only when it’s long.” An’nas grumbled. Tahon bit his lip trying not to crack the joke that was on the tip of his tongue. “You say one word, Fenlin, and you get to sleep outside of the tent.” Eyes the color of dawn dared him to call his bluff. 

“ _Ar lath ma._ ” Tahon said very quickly to avoid letting his laughter out. His mate snorted before continuing across the bridge. 

“Good cover.” 

Once everyone could breathe without inhaling sulfur, the elves stopped looking around. “Good to know deserts don’t change much over the millennia.” Nehnlin snorted. He looked around at the dunes. They may have changed from wind and whatnot, but he’d be he could still find food from the air. He doubted that the animal population had died out completely what with no hunters travelling this far out. 

“So where are the mounts that get to pull this?” Arvaan asked as they set their burden down on a flat piece of ground. The mounts they rode in on had gone back to camp, but some soldiers were supposed to meet them with the animals. 

Banal looked over at a dune. “I think they are headed this way,” He pointed at the shadows that were struggling against the shifting sands of the desert. The mounts at least were well trained and followed the three soldiers without having to be led. 

“Hmm, it doesn’t look like all of us will have our own ride…” Samahlnan commented as she counted the animals. 

“We can ride double,” Nenara shrugged. Her expert eyes could see the mounts were well trained and it shouldn’t be that far from the camp. 

“We’ll be down a mount or two though.” An’nas noted, motioning towards the sled. Banal sighed loudly. He hated the idea of being a pack Hart, but it seemed that no one else was going to step forward. 

His magic, still sore, began to pool around him. He let it go inside him. It shifted things around, pushed bones here and pulled them there. It made some grow longer and others grow shorter. The others just saw darkness surround him and then shift into a different shape. When it disappeared, a pure black Hart was shaking his head. 

Banal’s white streak manifested as white stripes on his hind legs. His eyes were still the same color, which was unnerving on an animal. The Anchor flickered on one hoof, making little cracks in it. But beyond that, it was hard to believe the Inquisitor was the Hart. 

Well until it turned and snorted. They could guess he was daring any of them to comment. 

Bull snickered, “Nice rack, boss.” The Hart did have a rather impressive set of antlers. He was also bigger than the other Harts the Inquisition had, mostly because he was very old. Far older than the actual animals. 

Banal could only snort and stamp one hoof. 

“I never knew you could shapeshift,” Vhena whined. “How come you never taught me how to?” 

Her brother laughed, “You never asked.” She glared at her twin. “Besides you chose Necromancy.” And An’nas had chosen Shapeshifting. Spirit Healing came after just as Arcane Warrior came after for his sister. 

“So who gets to ride the Inquisitor?” Varric couldn’t help himself. The Hart’s eyes narrowed and lowered his head like he wanted to charge the dwarf. He even started to paw at the ground. “Hey now, you opened yourself up for that one.” 

***** 

They quickly fell into a routine as they travelled back to Skyhold. Wake up, breakfast, pack camp, and move on. Simple. Only it wasn’t. 

Apparently Elvhen were early risers. By the time the rest of the party had gotten out of their tents, most of the camp was packed and ready to go. Even the cooking things. Banal had to explain that mortals needed to eat a lot, which made all the Elvhen (they continually pointed out that they were far different from their modern descendants) snicker, but got them to at least leave the cooking things out. 

Then there was the flaunting of magic that freaked some members of the Inquisition out. Like Nehnlin suddenly turning into a falcon and making off with Sera’s bow after she made a joke. Or Samahlnan making Tahon’s bowl fly into his face, which only led to the prince making the ground around her feet turn to quicksand. 

But they were at least interesting and more likely to talk than the Inquisitor. Throughout the trip, they learned many things about their new companions. Like Tahon was An’nas’s husband, making him Banal’s son-in-law (which no one could comprehend how that managed to happen). He was a superb duelist who could never sit still save for when he meditated. Which was always ruined by An’nas sneaking up on him. 

Rithara, the woman with honey blonde hair and beautiful robes, was born blind, but had learned to project a magic field that allowed her to sense where things were. She got along quite well with Vivienne, amazingly. Her wife, Nenara (the red-headed pirate who quickly proved to be a bigger menace than Sera), was fiercely protective over her. The pirate was childish, and was oddly better at healing than she was with fire spells. But she could cleave your head in two with her axe. 

Samahlnan and Nehnlin had this odd friendship that was based on sarcasm and yelling. Also gambling. They had nothing to gamble with but stupid little dares or their clothes, but they still played an odd card game nearly every night. A game in which Lotus sucked at playing. Though Varric could tell the man was lying through his teeth. He lost on purpose, even if that meant having to strip (never getting rid of his gloves before anything else). 

Speaking of the man striped down, he had a lotus tattoo on his left side. Fire spread out of it like vines in sweeping, elegant, almost-brushstroke-like lines from where the flower lay near his hip, turning from a watery blue to a more traditional fire color. 

The story was that he had dated this one guy back when he was still in school who gave that to him as a graduation present. It was to cover up a burn mark he had gotten from one of his girlfriends. Whether that was the truth, no one could tell. Just like no one could tell if him and Samahlnan were a couple or just an unrequited love or just really good friends. And the odd burn across his face? Apparently that’s what happens when an ethereal sword nearly skins you. 

Soralan was even worse when it came to trying to read. But what did they expect from someone who has The Liar tacked on to their name. He was mostly quiet throughout the trip. Barely speaking a few words, he seemed to be missing something if the forlorn gazes were to be believed. 

Arvaan was Sulahn’mi’s brother-in-law, though more through bonds than an actual marriage. Those two mostly stuck to themselves, patrolling and quietly laughing at the chaos the others (namely Tahon and Nenara) created. Sula apparently got stage-fright when it came to speaking in large groups, inducing dreadful bouts of tics. She also hated clutter and would spend much of her time awake sorting and organizing their supplies. 

And then there was Zeyras. He was perhaps only a few years older than Vhena and An’nas. If it were not for his spikey blond hair and eyes the color of cognac, no one would really notice him. He kept his head down, **never** looked anyone in the eye. If one went to talk to him, he’d automatically bow, and the only answers one would get would be simple ones with honorifics. He handled most domestic things like cooking or cleaning. There was also quite a bit of tension between him and the other elves, but no one would speak about it. 

They were an interesting bunch at least. 

***** 

“Alright so I gotta ask,” Varric began, watching the black-eyed healer poke and prod the Inquisitor’s side. It was looking better, no longer black and blue but yellow and green. “If you’re such a good healer, why do you have that scar?” Pretty sure everyone was wondering that. Lotus often reminded them that he had forty years of medicinal training and two hundred years of active practice of that training. So…why didn’t he just heal the Inquisitor? 

The blond looked up with a confused look. He looked at the Inquisitor who said something in elvish to him. He nodded in understanding before looking back at Varric. 

“Simple. I was taught not to use magic for stupid things. Plus healing magic hurts.” Lotus shrugged as he stood up. 

Varric furrowed his eyebrows. In all the times that Anders or Hawke or even Solas patched him up, it didn’t ever hurt. The elf seemed to notice as he cursed under his breath. 

“If you do it slowly, it doesn’t hurt. But on a battlefield or on the run, you can’t do slowly. And when you quickly speed up the natural process of healing, it hurts and expends more magic than it is worth for superficial wounds like this.” He motioned to his face. Then he looked pointedly at Banal, “And I keep thinking that maybe if I let him suffer through the pain, he’ll get smart. So far he’s disproved my theory.” 

“And you haven’t given up yet?” the dwarf chuckled as Banal glared. 

“Nay I haven’t. I just keep refining the theory and he keeps testing it.” Lotus shrugged before turning to tidy up his bag. They were finally out of the desert and were having a full day to rest, to get back on normal people hours. Everyone, including the animals, were happy for it. Well except for Banal, but he was hardly happy about anything lately. 

Mostly he stayed far from the group. Why no one could say, but the elves would get this look, one that said don’t mention it, if they ever brought it up. Vhena and An’nas would just share a look, but not say anything. So whatever was going on inside Banal’s head was going to stay that way. 

That wasn’t surprising. The fact that Cole wasn’t doing his usual peeking and blabbing was surprising. The spirit remained quiet for a lot of the trip. He talked, sure. Samahlnan asked him all sorts of questions. Sulahn’mi and him would pass the time with riddle battles (which the spirit was, surprise surprise, really good at). But he didn’t touch what was surely a gnarled ramble of grief. 

Varric liked to think, the kid was learning to become human a bit more and knew better than to start blabbing about something inside these people’s heads. Or maybe these people knew how to protect themselves from spirits. If only the others could be so lucky. 

“They hurt, but I can’t help.” Cole stated matter of factly as though sensing the dwarf’s train of thought. “But they let it bleed so it doesn’t get stuck, so it’s alright. They don’t need my help.” 

Varric felt some of the others stare at them oddly, heard a few whispered elvish phrases before the normal clatter of preparation for dinner began again. “Uh…that’s good, I think…” Then he noticed Cole’s staring at Banal’s back as he was setting up his own tent with his wards. “And the Inquisitor?” 

“It’s…gone. He makes it go away, but I don’t know how to make it stay.” Cole played with his gloves. 

“Papae deals with things differently than all of us, Cole.” Vhena spoke quietly, nearly appearing out of nowhere like the spirit. Varric nearly jumped out of his skin. She was watching where her father had worked. “The most you can do is wait him out until he wants to deal with it and try to act normal.” She shook her head like she was talking about a child’s antics. 

“But, it hurts him—“ 

“And it hurts all of us to see it, but rushing him would hurt him more, yes?” The spirit stared at her for a moment before nodding. 

“He has to want help.” Cole finally gave. Varric’s eyes flickered between the two kids. Apparently Elvhen were quite used to spirits and their ways. Either that or the girl knew exactly how to wrap anyone around her finger… 

“You’re…uh, pretty…used to spirits huh, Princess?” Varric asked hesitantly. The white haired elf smiled softly down on him. 

“Of course. I’ve had many spirits friends and have studied many more besides. Papae’s favorite weapon is knowledge and knowing which spirits are which is a step up from most.” Her pale eyelashes brushed her cheek as she closed her eyes as though thinking of something. It was hard to think of her as the daughter of Banal. She was so…soft looking, fragile like she was made from clouds and might disappear with a strong breeze. 

Cole’s senses were firing brilliantly as he focused on the Inquisitor’s daughter. She was so…bright. There was hurt in the bright, but mostly she felt like another spirit. Soft. Soothing. Sunny. White. 

“Oh, Varric, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Vhena suddenly started, opening her eyes as the thought came back. “How did my father’s hair start turning white again?” 

“Again?” Varric stammered. This had happened before? What did the Elvhen have some weird dye stuff? Or was it a part of being magic? Did Elvhen even have genetics? Or were they just pure magic? 

“Again.” Vhena nodded, smiling sweetly. But she would say no more about it, Varric learned after waiting for a full two minutes. 

“He helped rescue this Druffalo and the next morning he had a white spot.” The dwarf shrugged. 

The elf, however, frowned. Her pale eyebrows drew together. In her experience, Banal’s white spot only came out with love. So how the hell did that animal set it off? And where could she find ten more of the things? 

“Memories.” Cole stated bluntly. 

“Beg pardon?” Vhena blinked, remembering the spirit had not left. She was so used to only talking to spirits in her dreams (they never really came around the Temple much, save for two, but she had already talked to them numerous times). So it was strange to be staring at a spirit and carry of conversations with one. Especially one that took a completely human form, not a shadow of a human form, or a vague impression of one. But an actual human form. 

“The Druffalo reminded him of you. He remembered things the black took away. The black wants him to forget; it likes to be in control, to change, to make things darker. But the white tears away the black, lets him remember.” And Vhena just nodded like she understood everything. Varric just got a headache. How could something like hair color make you forget? But Cole was continuing, “Feelings, memories make him more, but he wants to be less. He likes the black, the forgetting so he tries to put the white, the remembering in a box. He hopes it will make him more like himself. But he’s the white no the black, so the box bends, breaks barely holds back what he locked away…” Alright Varric was getting a headache. There was just so many riddles and crazy shit one dwarf could take before his head couldn’t absorb anymore. 

“Take it, this makes perfect sense to you, Princess?” Varric pinched the bridge of his nose. He motioned for them to start for the fire that was now cooking dinner. 

“Sort of. Papae is different when his hair has white. But the black him isn’t all that bad. He was that way for all of my childhood.” 

“Do you know what the black is?” 

Vhena shook her head. “No. Just that it’s powerful and very much a part of my father, yet still separate. It confuses me too.” 

Varric sat down on a log, prompting the girl to do so as well. “Right well, how about we move on to something less confusing.” Most of the elves were around the fire along with the Inner Circle, so it was as good a time as any. 

“Like what?” 

“Well, you all have been through hell and back in a short amount of time. How are all of you holding up?” He looked around the fire. The elves either smiled or rolled their eyes. “Just checking on you.” Varric chuckled. 

“We are fine, durgen’len. Death is not an unusual concept.” Samahlnan waved away his concern. 

“Still doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, Lily.” The blood mage blinked at her nickname. Most people didn’t call her something so…delicate. Then again lilies could be poisonous, so it was an amusing nickname. 

“No, but you learn to cope with the hurt.” Soralan piped in. He didn’t really talk much, but had this pained look whenever he thought no one was watching. Varric took a guess that the now one-armed elf lost something more important than his sword arm. “It’ll hurt to remember at first, but after the first century, it’ll hurt more to have forgotten.” 

For a moment, Varric’s brain stalled at the mention of a century. It was hard for any of them to believe that elves who lived during the time of fabled Arlathan were in their camp right then. So any reference the elves made to their long lives threw people off guard, made their heads hurt, and upset their stomachs. 

Sulahn’mi seemed to notice Varric’s confusion or unease, for she spoke up, quiet as a Chantry mouse. “The durgen’len I met were baffled by us as well” She gave a small smile as she stoked the fire with a stick. “But, mortals confuse us. I cannot even fathom how beings with such short lives can carry on so quickly after someone’s death.” She shook her head, making her tangle of curls bounce. 

Varric bit back a comment about thanks for the reminder that his life was short lived. Instead he settled on another, “Well how do you guys take so long?” 

An’nas chuckled. “Really depends on what part of the Empire you were from.” He paused scratching at the small birthmark on his cheek. He tried to think back to his travels through the Empire. He had seen so much in his time away, yet what good he saw was outmatched by the bad. Finally he settled on one particular memory. “People of the Northeastern part, celebrated life rather than mourn the dead. Funerals were about telling stories, feasting, and new life beginning rather than one ending.” 

Samahlnan giggled, “It was always a grand celebration when someone died in my little village.” Some of them found it disrespectful to laugh and smile about such things. But they didn’t expect much from a blood mage assassin. “What? Afterwards life carried on as usual and no one but family really paid attention to the dead ones. Not like some places anyway.” 

“Some places had certain days dedicated to remembering and honoring the dead, certain traditions.” An’nas clarified with a shrug. 

“My people, the people of the Southeast, had an entire week dedicated to the dead. If what I have learned is true, you people would know my lands as the Brecilian Forest, the Hinterlands, and parts of the Kocari Wilds.” Soralan stared into the fire. Apparently Ferelden had always been a site for bloody things. 

“Ours was a war torn land, you see. Even in my time. A great many battles took place, so many died in so little time that their bodies would be buried, names recorded and then forgotten until that week. It was a holy pilgrimage for the priests of Falon’Din to go there where the High Temple of their god resided.” Soralan finally looked up. He didn’t like remembering his homeland much. 

They were a grim lot, trying to rule that place was a lost cause. Minor lords started feuds that ended in blood almost daily. Demons were attracted to that place, and the Liar’s people were the only ones standing between them and the rest of the Empire. Gods clashed there. They used to say that land was cursed, and perhaps they were right. Misfortune and war were the blood of the people there, death was their very breath. There in the land of the dead, the living died the moment they were born, or so the old adage around Court said. 

“What would you do during that time?” Blackwall asked. Normally they might question what someone called the Liar was saying, but the pain and hopelessness in the man’s eyes said he was telling the truth. 

Soralan rubbed the back of his neck. He loved his people, don’t get him wrong, and loved the week of the dead. It was the one time his homeland saw peace, get a glimmer of hope. “Wars, feuds, and battles were all put on hold. It was a time for peace, mourning, to remember those who no longer lived, not adding to the numbers. 

“Enemies would help each other gather those who had not been buried, they’d sit together to hear stories of men they may have killed. Priests would give mass rites to the departed. During that time, you didn’t hear battle cries and screams, but singing. It was a beautiful time that always ended too soon.” 

The camp was quiet, only the fire had the audacity to make noise. In these times, most of the humans could relate to the Liar’s account of his customs. They had lost so many in the Blight ten years ago, in the Kirkwall Rebellion, in the Mage Templar War and now with Corypheus. There will always be dead that never were committed to the flame, forever lost, but they couldn’t stop to think about it like that. 

They had to win so those deaths mattered. 

“The elves…really liked to tell stories I take it?” Varric finally spoke, mostly to shatter the oppressive gloom settling over their heads. It made for a poor dinner. “I mean, that seems to be about the only common thread I’m finding here.” 

“So do humans and dwarves.” Arvaan said simply. “Stories are history. They’re how we remember, without them…well it’s hard to think of what life would be like without history or stories.” The warrior furrowed his eyebrows like the thought was a troubling one. Though valid. 

Sera snorted. “What’s the point of fretting about somethin’ that happened? It’s not going to change anythin’ rememberin’ old stories that you don’t even know are true.” This batch was just as bad as the Dalish. Past glories were the only thing that mattered, forget that the world was ending _now_ , let’s just remember how great we used to be. 

Some of the elves narrowed their eyes at her. An’nas even pinned his ears back and gave one of his father’s death glares. Tahon only smirked. Which, when Sera looked at him, unsettled her. It was like looking at a wolf grin at you…right before he was about to eat you alive. 

“Well, Sera, it might not effect today but the past can affect the future.” Tahon shrugged. Why did she feel like Solas was about to launch into one of his lectures? This duelist was supposed to be fun, not like the egg head. “I mean think about it. If we didn’t look to the past, we’d make the same mistakes, or never learn from them and we’d be in the mess we’re in right now.” 

She frowned and glared. “Or we’d be just like Corphenus, punchin’ holes in the sky for what? Tryin’ to be like we used to be.” 

Tahon nodded seeing her point, but Corypheus, from what Banal had shared with them, was far from what he was going for. There would always be Corypheuses (Coryphi maybe?) who want to restore the past in some crazy manner. But they were the minority. And there would always be people who look to that same past and see how to defend against it. That was the point. 

“But think about it, Sera.” Tahon started. “If we ignored the past, how would we know to stop Corypheus? We might think, oh maybe this time will be better. If we only looked to the future, we’d miss a lot of things.” 

Sera gave her classic ‘you’re stupid and I’ve quit listening’ look. “So instead we’re supposed to look at how some _dead_ empire lived and shove our heads up our own arses trying to be like people who couldn’t even agree on something simple?” 

“How is that any different than the people or culture you support?” Rithara spoke up, gently. “The world has changed hands, but those hands aren’t much different than the ones before them. You feud, you fight, you don’t agree on a type of government, you barely agree to disagree.” She shook her head, making some of the jewels in her hair twinkle in the firelight. 

“The Elvhen were as varied as the shemlen when it came to beliefs and cultures, but we were an Empire, a People, united in a way your kind lack despite all the wars and differences. You all only unite against each other, only a people when you want to separate yourselves from others. We all followed the same rules of politics: hierarchy systems, laws of succession, those sort of things. Armies were the same across the board. We were much like…your Chantry I suppose” Rithara shrugged at her last comment. Some of the elves groaned at the mention of politics. 

“Politics are by far the most convoluted thing of Elvhen society.” Tahon grumbled. His head hurt just remembering Court. Lords bickering, Dukes scheming, and over a thousand rules to be learned and used to forge alliances and end rivalries. That’s not counting the ones that you had to dig through three hundred years of laws to find one tiny little law that was never overturned or rewritten. Or the histories you had to rummage through to find that this House never paid this debt six hundred years ago and so they now owe you a favor by this law blah blah blah. 

In a way, he was glad blowing up your castle generally means you quit the throne. 

Vivienne on the other hand seemed quite interested in hearing all about Elvhen politics. Looking at the people they salvaged from the Temple, she couldn’t believe any of them had seen Court. But in her talks with Samahlnan, a woman with a very prestigious title and the elegance to match the Iron Lady’s, she had found looks were deceiving. “Politics are nothing more than an intricate game you have to learn to play or be killed,” She told the duelist who only frowned. “It is not for everyone.” 

“Yeah well, I’d like to see you try to memorize entire Houses, who’s feuding with whom and for what, who owns this duchy and which King they swear fealty to, and so on.” Vivienne opened her mouth to no doubt say she already had, but Tahon cut her off, “Keeping in mind that the Elvhen had long lifespans. Feuds could extend from some slight hundreds of years ago or perhaps thousands of years ago. And you have to find this one tiny little sentence in some obscure text that only hints at the cause. And then you wade through another library to find some small speck of a law that was never rewritten or overturned so you could end the feud. Your Game, Vivienne, would seem to be a child’s game of hide-and-seek rather than politics.” 

Before they could start another feud with the Iron Lady (Banal’s hatred of her was enough for the entire Inquisition, no need to add more), Varric asked the first question that came to his head. “How many Kings did you have exactly?” 

“As many as the number of territories at any given time.” Nehnlin shrugged. That was the answer he had learned anyway. 

“But you were an Empire.” Blackwall stated. Empires had one ruler, an emperor or empress, and then minor nobility underneath them. 

“Yes…We ‘ad w’at you’d call t’e Sun King as a ruler of all of t’e Elvhenan. T’e Sun King was divine, a god in t’e flesh, you’d know ‘im as Elgar’nan. ‘e was t’e last any way. But, below ‘im, t’e Elvhenan was split into territories, each governed separately by a High King.” Nenara explained with disinterest as she cleaned under her nails with a dagger, though she did take care to pronounce High King correctly. Nehnlin frowned at the sight, hoping she tossed the thing away rather than keep it. “High Kings were only answerable to t’e Sun King and t’e Council of Kings.” 

“Which was…?” 

“One month out of the year, all t’e High Kings went to Arlat’an for t’e Council of Kings. T’ere, overseen by Elgar’nan, t’ey’d decided and vote on laws t’at all of t’e Empire ‘ad to follow. Also t’ere were some budget t’ings, and probably some boasting going too.” The pirate shrugged. “Can’t tell you much about it.” 

“Below the High Kings were the dukes, banns, marquis…” Lotus added. “Below them were minor lords and ladies with no real title, but were the upper class.” 

“Uh-huh…” Varric said. “So do we have royalty in our numbers now?” He joked. It wasn’t like he was expecting the answer to be yes. These people were obviously outcasts from their society, just the way Varric liked his friends. When you got royals, you got people like Sebastian and they just annoyed him. 

“Did I not introduce myself as Prince Sarel?” Tahon snorted. “I could have sworn I did.” 

The dwarf blinked. “I didn’t really think you could keep your title being a part of a rebel army and all.” 

The duelist laughed. “No, I kind of blew up my castle, so…not like I’m prince of much anyway.” Again Solas furrowed his eyebrows. Tahon just happened to ignore his father’s questioning looks. “Then there’s Sula. She was a…duchess?” 

The Champion nodded quietly. “Before my parents disowned me.” 

“Nenar was a lieutenant in the Calvary, which was almost as good as being a noble.” 

“Oh so we have an actual soldier?” Varric quipped. 

“Sorta. I don’t t’ink your military ‘as a position like mine.” She patted her chest plate. An emblem still shone brightly on its face: halla horns with elfroot twining through them in front of a flame. “Lieutenant Nenara of t’e First Calvary, at your service.” Rithara snickered beside her. Nenara held much pride in her time of service, just as much as she did her time of piracy. 

“The First Calvary were Battle Healers.” Tahon explained. 

“Battle Healers?” Cassandra asked. 

“Essentially they were soldiers, but their job was to go through battlefields and get the injured, stabilize them, and transport them back to the healer healers like Lotus.” 

“We specialized in t’e manipulation of Life Magic.” Nenara nodded. When everyone just stared dumbly at her, she rolled her eyes. “You know, Life magic.” 

Vivienne and Dorian were finding this interesting how the elves had refined nearly everything about magic into set jobs. It was strange and rather preposterous to think that elves could have mastered all magical arts but their way of thinking was fascinating. 

“For the sake of argument, let’s say we don’t know what life magic is.” Varric gave. 

The elves all looked at each other, trying to find the right words to say. In the end Lotus sighed, having to, yet again, explain something that should’ve been taught. “Elvhen had two kinds of magic. In your tongue they’d be called Life Magic and Fade Magic. Everyone had Life Magic; it was what made your heart beat, healed your wounds, kept you living. It’s what blood mages manipulate and use.” He motioned towards Sama. 

“Mages,” he continued, “had a second kind of magic. Fade Magic. It came from…well the Fade. It gave us a seemingly endless supply of magic. And as it was connected to our Life, magic was like breathing to us. When we sleep, our Life and Fade magics connect, the latter replenishing the former, expanding our lives. When we are awake, there’s a barrier usually between the two, so we don’t use our Lives to fuel our magic, unless you’re a blood mage. 

“Healers like Nenara train to safely break down that barrier and connect their life force with another’s to sort of boost the healing process until healers like me can heal the wounds. My kind of healing takes time. Nenara’s is quick, painless, and not really healing. She just sort of keeps your body functioning while her Hart hauls ass to the healer’s tent.” Lotus shrugged. He got a lot of confused stares. He didn’t expect the short lived humans to understand. Hell sometimes he didn’t understand it if he thought about it long enough. 

“You said there was a barrier **usually** ” Dorian asked apparently keeping up with all this magic shit. Of course. “As in sometimes there’s not?” 

“Banal, Vhena, and An’nas don’t have barriers for some reason.” Lotus said calmly. The twins nodded once in agreement. “It’s really weird but their Life Magic is always connected to the Fade. So when they use magic, they are technically using their Life. But no barrier also means they constantly gain magic.” 

“It simultaneously makes our magic more powerful and us more vulnerable.” Vhena piped in cheerily. 

“We always stand the risk of using too much magic and exhausting ourselves.” An’nas shrugged. That was their reality, how they were trained. Where most mages just had to learn spells and how to control them, they had to learn to control the trickle of magic before they ever learned a spell. In theory it sounded the same as regular mage training. In practice it wasn’t. 

“And what happens if you do?” Cassandra asked after a moment of letting that thought sink in. 

“Well, we could just get sick.” 

“Which is a bad sign.” Lotus interjected. 

“Or we could just get a headache,” Vhena continued. 

“Also a bad sign.” The twins frowned at the healer. “What? A headache and a fever are warning signs for you to **stop**.” 

“So what happens if they do exhaust their magic supplies?” Somehow Varric didn’t think he wanted to know the answer. 

Lotus looked him straight in the eye and said calmly, “They won’t have enough to keep their hearts beating.” 

***** 

When they arrived in the Exalted Plains, Banal couldn’t stand it anymore. His body was caked in dirt and blood. His hair was greasy and he loathed touching it. And then everyone stunk like a body pit. He was fucking bathing even if he had to do so in a freezing cold lake. 

He ordered them to set camp, not far from the ancient baths he had founded last time he was here. The baths were all but destroyed, but up river there was a waterfall that provided some clean water at least. The river right now was a muddy brown, and Banal shuddered even thinking of bathing in it. 

“Why are we stopping so early?” Vhena asked as Tahon helped her off the wagon. 

“Bath.” Was the only word Banal said. Instantly, Nehnlin’s ears perked up. Finally! He thought. The shemlen were beginning to ripen and the shifter felt like he was going to break out in hives if he went much longer without washing. 

As soon as everything was set up, Nehnlin was rifling through Lotus’s bags in search of soap. 

“You know you could just ask!” Lotus growled as he caught the rogue. Nehnlin gave a wicked smile as he pulled out his prize and disappeared in a black puff. The healer rolled his eyes. Samahlnan chuckled by his side. 

“You know, N’lin.” She waved his comment away. And then she sidled up to him, batting her eyelashes. “So…if I asked really nicely…” 

People watching tried to hide their laughter as the physician looked almost pained by her begging. He was obviously completely under her spell. “Just fucking take it.” He growled, as he tossed his bag at her. The blood mage giggled and dug out her favorite soap Lotus made. The healer rolled his eyes as she trotted off. “Anyone else?” He hissed. 

Most of the other elves shook their heads, producing their already commandeered soap and headed for the waterfall. The humans looked puzzled. Vhena looked back as though she expected them to come along. 

“Aren’t you coming?” She asked. 

“Shemlen prefer separate bathing times.” Banal clarified as he walked by his daughter. 

“Isn’t that impractical?” 

“And everyone taking a bath at once isn’t?” Sera shot back. Vhena blinked at her. She didn’t really understand Sera. She was an elf, but said she wasn’t. She hated nobles and how they acted, but she didn’t act all that different from them when it came some things. Rather than punching down, she punched up. And she kicked the Dalish…No Vhena was going to stop thinking about it. 

“We don’t all take a bath at the same time. Some of us stand guard, and then we switch out.” Vhena shrugged. “So at least someone’s dressed and ready to fight.” But she didn’t really wait for Sera to reply before she linked her arm with Banal’s and started for the river. 

Nehnlin had already washed himself and was helping Zeyras wash clothes as people stripped down. There wasn’t a lot of clothes mind you. Elvhen armor and clothes were designed to be as practical as possible. Everything was form fitting, supportive and protective. So there wasn’t really any need for small clothes. Full body chainmail like what Tahon wore had leather on the other side to prevent chaffing and pinching. Clothes like what Sama wore would just look odd with undergarments. 

Sure, some of them wore hip wraps or breast bands when they washed clothes or other domestic type jobs that armor wasn’t suited for. But under their armor? Nope. It was just one too many articles that would have to be tugged on if they were attacked at night. And if you had to choose between small clothes and armor in a battle, you’d choose armor too. 

Vhena, in a matter of seconds, was cannonballing into the water with a shrill giggle. Her white hair had begun to look brown from all the dust in it. Many of the elves laughed as they got splashed. Banal just rolled his eyes as he undressed and unbound his hair. 

He stayed near the edge where it was just shallow enough for him to keep his feet on the ground. The others swam around leisurely. Some horsed around, like Tahon and Nenara. But they were just enjoying the cool breeze and the blue sky. 

In the desert, they had to either find an oasis and wait for nightfall or just bathe in the Temple’s baths. Which weren’t all that bad. Plants were everywhere in there. Rocks grew algae and a little waterfall kept the baths clean without the use of much magic. And the water always felt cool and smelled wonderful. 

But people start to miss the sky if they’ve seen it before, miss a non-burning hot sun on their backs. Vhena was just happy to see a world outside her home, finally. It was her very first adventure. And she was looking forward to it. 

***** 

After the elves came back from their baths, the humans took their turns. Nehnlin went off to hunt for dinner while the rest just lounged around camp. Their clothes hung on ropes to dry, so the camp was full of half naked elves much to the displeasure of some of the Inquisition. 

“Apparently a distaste for clothes is an elven thing,” Vivienne muttered under her breath as she, Cassandra, and Sera wandered back from their bath. Cassandra frowned. If someone was to attack, they’d all be sitting ducks. Certainly they had to know that. 

The Inquisition soldiers looked at the Seeker with confused eyes like they were puzzled by the elves’ lack of preparation as well. Banal was nowhere to be seen of course, so they weren’t going to get an answer without asking. And no one really wanted to ask. 

“Careful, keep starin’ and we might get t’e wrong idea.” Nenara winked as she walked passed carrying more wood for the fire. Cassandra made her signature disgusted noise. Which only made the elf laugh. 

“What are you all doing?” She asked. 

“Waiting for our clothes to dry.” Arvaan stated. 

“Keeping up appearances,” Samahlnan smiled from her spot near the fire. Zeyras was in front of her. A pretty silver comb ran through his shoulder length hair a few times before she started to snip pieces off. 

“Seriously, sethlin? Out of all the things you brought, you brought scissors?” Nehnlin scoffed as he waltzed into camp with a wolf slung across his shoulders. The blood mage smiled. 

“Of course. We can’t afford to look shabby.” 

Nehnlin rolled his eyes but sat down to begin skinning his kill. 

“Hey that’s just rude, N’lin.” Tahon called from where he and Sulahn’mi were sparring with sticks. “Making me eat my own kind!” Everyone laughed or at least chuckled at the Dread Wolf’s son (said Dread Wolf rolled his eyes as he started walking to the river). 

“Didn’t you hear when you joined? The Shadow King’s forces are cannibals.” 

An’nas and Vhena shook their heads. The number of tales about their father was incomprehensible. The Dalish told stories about how Fen’Harel would come and steal you away. The Elvhen told stories about how the Shadow King would hunt you in your dreams and take you as his slave. Stupid stories, of course. But entertaining. 

Many times An’nas wondered what people would do if they knew they had been talking to the Shadow King’s son. Sometimes it was an amusing thought. The look of sheer shock on their faces. No one would believe him back then of course. But it was still funny to think about. 

“What was that old saying?” Tahon panted. “My nursemaid used to say it a lot, usually right before I went and did something I shouldn’t have…” He parried a strike. Sulahn’mi jumped back to avoid his swipe. “Be good lest the Shadow King steal you from your bed?” 

“As though I’d want more children.” Banal’s voice cut through the air. Everyone turned to look at him roll his eyes as he emerged from his tent, shirt unbuttoned but still more clothed than everyone else. “I barely could stand having two of my own.” 

“We weren’t that bad if you kept us.” Vhena giggled. 

“No, no one would take you.” Banal fired back. An’nas rolled his eyes as he took Zeyras’s spot in front of Samahlnan. Zeyras shook his head a few times, getting used to the feeling of no hair on his neck. His hair was just long enough to fall into his eyes and run his hands through. He pushed his bangs back, showing off his silver Mythal vallaslin. Similar tattoos ran all over his body, giving him just a faint shimmer. Lash marks marred his back and legs. The only physical signs that he was ever a slave. 

Vhena all but jumped up and skipped over to him. The boy stiffened, dropping his eyes to the ground. It was almost comical how he jumped when she stood on her tiptoes and messed up his hair. “Your hair is always so soft, I’m jealous!” She giggled. 

Banal’s eyes narrowed on him as a blush crept of the boy’s face along with a gentle smile. “Ma serannas, Lady Vhena.” 

Vhena then turned back to her father. “What was that old story about you and Andruil?” She asked randomly. Banal blinked. He hadn’t told that story in years. Well it wasn’t really a story as it actually happened…For once Banal had done what he was accused of doing: making the Huntress lose her bloody mind. Not that she had much of a mind to begin with. 

Banal had never liked the Goddess of the Hunt. She was a battle-crazed boar. Everything was like a hunt to her, to the point that it was rather creepy. But that was beside the point. 

The story went that Andruil grew tired of hunting animals and turned her attention to the Forgotten Ones. Now the Forgotten Ones had been banished at that point (that’s how the stories went, the Creators didn’t slaughter the Forgotten Ones, they were just banished because slaughtering was barbaric and beneath the Creators). So she had to search the Fade for their location. 

Finally she found a single Forgotten One, the Shadow King. She chased him through his dreams, until he hid in the Void. Even a god could not stay in the Void for long, but the Forgotten One was born of the Void, it was his home so he could stay there all he wanted. So he taunted her, called her on her cowardice. 

Eventually she grew tired of being mocked and chased him into the Void. She did not linger long. But she kept coming back. She couldn’t let her quarry escape her, you see. It was a hunter’s pride kind of thing. So she kept going back into the Void to chase the Shadow King. It took a toll on her mind. Soon she fell prey to the Void, the hunter becoming the hunted. 

The Void became like a drug to her. The more she chased the Forgotten One, the more the Void chased her. But she needed that rush. Soon her mind spiraled into madness chasing that feeling. She knew only the Hunt, the Void. 

Some say she even crafted armor from the Void, just to keep that high going. 

Banal didn’t know if that last part was true, but he did trick the Huntress into the Void, that place only accessible to spirits and the dead. He was just a special case. He had died after all, so he could find the Void, enter it. The only problem was that if he stayed too long, it’d tray to reclaim him. But he’d usually send an illusion through the Void. Why? Because the stupid little Creator kept heckling him in his dreams. It was annoying. He’d move from one spot in the Fade to another and she’d be a few steps behind. Plus, he was already leading Falon’Din down a road to death and destruction, so why not add Andruil to the mix? 

Banal shook his head at the memories. “That one was always my favorite tale.” He admitted. “One tale they actually got right.” 

“Oh and the one about your people devouring their enemies wasn’t true?” Rithara quipped as she checked the clothes with her hands. The cloth that went over her eyes was drying as well, so for once you could see her Fade green eyes. They were unfocused, of course, but they still looked like jewels. 

Banal made a noise of no commitment as he shrugged. Some of his people did, some did not. Really depended on the person. If they wanted to eat people, they were welcome to do it…to the enemy, not to each other…unless they were starving…Banal didn’t really care so long they kept it to the lower levels of the Temple. 

***** 

Dinner came around, everyone now clean. People could breathe again without smelling weeks of road travel hanging in the air. It was a good time. 

But then…a miraculous thing happened, making this day better. Rather than slink off to his tent with a glare on his face, Banal accepted his bowl of wolf stew and sat beside Dorian. Well, he sat on the ground beside Dorian’s legs to be precise. But his arm brushed the Altus’s leg. Everyone blinked. The Inquisitor had not sat with them for what seemed to be forever. He was still silent, but he was there. That had to mean something right? 

“Why are you sitting in the dirt?” Dorian asked as though he couldn’t fathom anyone willingly sitting there when there was a perfectly good log. Banal just held up a hand with his fingers splayed. Slowly he lowered each finger, wordlessly counting down to something. “What are you—“ 

Vhena, who had been fidgeting in her spot, got up and handed Zeyras her bowl. She practically pranced over to Banal, who had finished counting and was now eating his stew. As she stepped behind him, she started combing his overlong hair with a rather ornate comb she produced from somewhere. 

Banal smirked and looked up at Dorian like ‘See? I knew she was going to do that.’ He went back to eating as his daughter played with his hair. It was rather strange having the Inquisitor sit calmly. Then again, it was quite clear Vhena had her father wrapped around her little finger. So perhaps it wasn’t so strange that he indulged her. 

Plus he did have magnificent hair (Dorian could very well affirm that it was soft and damn near like silk when properly washed). And it was really long. 

Vhena’s nimble little fingers practically danced as they braided the top part of his skull. The white streak Banal sported flicked in and out of view as she went along. 

“So, old man, where are we headed exactly?” Tahon asked. Banal paused in his eating. He supposed the rogue would figure it out sooner or later when they began going through the mountain passes. 

“Tarasyl’an.” 

He might as well have slapped the man from the look on his face. First disbelief flickered over his face, then confusion, and then he settled on anger. “What? How the hell…” 

“Humans rebuilt it.” Banal absently said. He stirred his stew around for a moment. “If you’re lucky, you might even get your old room back.” He gave a wicked smirk as Tahon pulled back his upper lip and pinned his ears back. 

“ _Go screw yourself_ ” He hissed. An’nas smacked his arm. But Banal only laughed. 

“ _I have a human for that._ ” Banal nodded his head towards Dorian. The rogue blew a loud breath from his nose and stood up. Everyone couldn’t exactly say why he was pissed, but it was obvious he was **pissed**. His eyes looked far more wolf-like as he stalked away. His shape slowly changed into a brown wolf that loped away from camp. 

An’nas sighed, “Do you really have to antagonize him?” 

Banal smiled at his son. “Yes.” 

***** 

They took a few days at Skyhold to settle everyone in. Banal was quite adamant that his people were not part of the Inquisition; they were allies. So no one had the ability to order them around. They were assisting, that was all. He was also very clear that Vhena, An’nas, Rithara, and Zeyras were not to be put in harm’s way. If they were, someone would answer for it in a very painful way. 

Mostly though, it was just finding new jobs for their new friends that took so long. The elves quickly found their favorite haunts. Tahon preferred to be on the battlements usually meditating unless An’nas was around. For the first few days he was sullen at being home again. But then again this place was different and he had An'nas, who spent part of his time down at the infirmary and the other part with his husband. 

If Lotus wasn’t healing, he was in the tavern drinking. And gambling with Samahlnan, who stayed in the Herald’s Rest. It was home to them, familiar even before they had joined Banal. Soralan would occasionally join their games when he wasn’t helping Sulahn’mi and Arvaan train soldiers. 

Nehnlin could be found either shadowing one of the twins (usually Vhena), or up on one of the support beams in the Grand Hall, looking down on all the activity. He’d mend armor or whittle while he was up there, taking care to sprinkle some wood shavings on an particularly annoying noble. 

Zeyras helped out in the kitchens or cleaning. Occasionally, Cullen would ask him to show a few tricks in unarmed combat, but he was mostly doing domestic things. When he wasn’t, he was with Nenara and Dennett, looking after the mounts. Dennett didn’t know much about these new stable hands, but the mounts adored them and they were skilled, so he couldn’t complain. 

Rithara found a nice shady spot in the gardens where she could play her flute or sing or just listen to all the noise. She’d also mend clothes or help Sulahn’mi sharpen weapons. Vhena spent most of her times in the gardens. She was bound and determined to get some of the rare plants to grow in Skyhold. Banal knew she wasn’t going to stop until she had done just that. 

It would be a simple task, adjusting the ambient air temperature around the plant, tweaking the soil just right, changing the air’s humidity…But with the Veil suppressing her magic and making everything just that much more tangible, it’d be a challenge. It kept her busy at least. 

Banal would soon have to think of something else to keep her busy. Because between her and Lotus, they’d soon have the Skyhold gardens filled with strange flora. Thankfully he had already upgraded it. 

So everyone was settling in quite nicely. Most of the humans believed the story of these just being an isolated pocket of elves. Those who asked more questions, or asked the elves themselves got more of the story. They were Elvhen, ancient elves who awoke from a stasis when their home was attacked. 

Those people got confused and whether they believed it or not was up for debate. 

Banal spent much of his time in his room where he had the eluvian. He had moved his loveseat to in front of his fireplace and put the mirror in its place. For several days, he just tweaked the mirror. He had to carefully disconnect it from its pair and then reconnect it to the Temple. It was a long and arduous process, especially with his magic being so low. 

Indeed, he could only stand to work on the thing for a few hours a day before he felt like he was going to throw up from being dizzy. By the time he had managed to get it connected and functioning again, he had broken out into a fever. His magic was struggling to replenish itself as he hardly slept. 

Well, he slept. But he didn’t enter the Fade like he should’ve. He was stuck in his own head. Something was preventing him from dreaming. It just kept giving him random images that should’ve made sense, but didn’t. 

Cole had tried to explain how there was a wall that blocked him from being him and it was cracking, things leaking through but they get messed up as they fall, memories fall into other memories. And it just made Banal’s head hurt worse. 

He knew he had some sort of barrier in his head. He didn’t think it could stop him from entering the Fade though…could it? It was in his head, so as far as he knew it had always been inside his head. And he had dreamt before. So what was blocking him? 

Banal wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. 

***** 

“No, absolutely not.” Vhena growled, crossing her arms. Banal had to refrain himself from sighing loudly again. Both of his children had ambushed him outside the War Room. Obviously Vhena had taken up her old habit of eavesdropping again. 

“I don’t recall ever having to ask your permission to do something, da’vhenan.” Banal said through clenched teeth. His head was starting to ache again. The world was getting fuzzy around the edges. 

“You’re not well, Papae.” An’nas stated bluntly. He stood slightly behind his sister with his own glare. “You shouldn’t be travelling.” 

Banal snorted, “Da’nas, I’ve lived thousands of years before I had you two worrying over me, I think I know my limits.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Obviously not if you think going to this Crestwood is a good idea!” Vhena stomped her foot. “You shouldn’t be fighting, Papae. Let your body rest, for the Void’s sake.” She scrunched up her nose and eyebrows like she had done when she was small and arguing for argument sake. 

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.” Banal took a deep breath, pinching his bridge. “I’ve been absent for over a month now, Vhena. Hawke and his Warden friend might already be long gone and there are sightings of Rifts all over the region.” 

“Surely they’d understand—“ 

“He should go.” Came a new voice. Tahon let his illusion spell drop, the air shimmering around him as he appeared. The twins turned to him and glared. 

“Are you insane?” An’nas growled. “If he goes, he’s going to get himself killed.” Tahon held up his hands as though to stop their vitriol. 

“Look at it this way. It’s rude to keep people waiting, even if you’re attending to personal matters. Beyond that, if he stays, he looks weak or selfish or like he doesn’t care. All of that affects moral, and that’s the point. People need to see the Inquisition doing something.” The young prince knew how these things worked. It was most of his life after all. Beyond that, he didn’t think Banal would listen to them. He never did, so arguing was pointless. 

“But he’s—“ Vhena started. 

“I’ll go with him, if that’ll make you feel better.” The duelist smirked as the Inquisitor rolled his eyes again. Like he needed a babysitter. More likely the duelist was going to make some fuss and Banal would have to bail him out…again. “I should be able to keep him alive long enough to come back here.” He shrugged. 

An’nas frowned, not liking this plan either. Sarel Tahon Surana might as well be synonyms for chaos, disaster, and unlucky. Sure he did have a lot of luck, like An’nas just happening to be on the same road he was almost assassinated on. But he was incredibly unlucky too because he was almost assassinated. Plus he was reckless. 

Tahon smiled at his husband, a cocky grin. “Oh come on, hallalin, we’re just going to meet some Warden. How hard can that be?” 

***** 

As it turns out, very hard. Tahon and Banal both stood staring at the Rift in the lake, dumbfounded. They certainly didn’t plan on that. Or the undead. Tahon could handle a Rift in the water, it was the walking dead things that freaked him out. They were all slimy, and muddy, and some had barnacles growing on them and ugh it was just horrible. 

“So…how’s that theory of ‘it’s not going to be that hard’ going?” Banal hissed as he glared at the water. He swore his son-in-law jinxed them. 

The rogue in question rubbed his neck, scratching the skin with the claws of his gauntlet. “Oh shut up, old man. Like it’s my fault there’s a hole in the Veil where a lake is.” 

“The Veil must have been very thin there for it to appear.” 

“Crestwood was the site of a flood ten years ago during the Blight. Most of the village was wiped out.” Harding piped in. Both men turned to look at her. The darkness cast by the rain seemed to make the elves’ eyes glow. Which wasn’t very settling. 

“Lots of death’ll do it.” Tahon snorted, looking back at the lake. “So what’s the plan? Not like we can swim there, it looks like it’s beneath the village.” 

“How can you tell?” Dorian asked between shivers. Did every place they went to have to be a miserable place? Couldn’t they for once go some place warm and sunny with just the right amount of humidity? It’d certainly be a change from cold, rainy, or dry. 

“Well you can’t see the Rift, just the glow. Sides, if it was near the surface spirits would be floating over the water, not like they need solid ground to walk on.” 

“So what? We drain the lake?” Varric asked. He didn’t like the idea of trudging around in the Ferelden muck…again. That stuff never came out of his boots. And Bianca was getting water in her mechanics. 

“The villagers might be know more. If the undead haven’t gotten them all yet.” Harding muttered. They had tried to keep entire hoards from reaching the village, but some slipped through now and again. Beyond that, she was pretty sure demons could just appear wherever they liked. 

“I suppose it’s half of a plan.” Tahon shrugged. 

“And that’s better than no plan,” Blackwall finished. 

“That depends on who you ask, Warden.” Banal grumbled. He gave his head a little shake as water trickled down his ears. He flicked up his hood. That was one thing he hated about the rain. Water running down his ears. Tahon followed suit, looking more like a Sentinel with half of his face covered. 

The others frowned, getting wet because they didn’t have hoods. But as they started to walk from the camp, Blackwall had a question that kept bugging him. “So since the Rift is in the lake…does that mean there’s water going into the Fade right now?” 

The two elves stopped and turned towards him. For a moment he feared he asked something entirely stupid. But the two looked confused. They shared a look, thinking. “You know…I can’t really say I know…” Tahon admitted. 

“Really?” Banal scoffed. It was hard to think that the son of Solas wouldn’t know much about the Fade. 

“Hey, if you want a lecture about the Fade, you need to talk to my fa—Solas. You need to talk to Solas.” Tahon so smoothly covered. Everyone looked at him strangely. His gold eyes darted around like he was looking for a way out. “Hey I think I heard corpses over there.” His words came out quickly before he started up a small hill. 

Banal chuckled to himself. “ _Smooth_ ” came from his mouth as he walked beside the duelist. 

“ _Shut it, old man._ ” 

“ _I’m curious, have you gone to talk to him yet?_ ” Banal asked quietly. Tahon set his jaw. 

“ _Nope. Been avoiding him…for the obvious reason of I blew up his castle…_ ” That was just going to be an awkward conversation. Plus it had been what? Two thousand and some odd years since they’ve actually talked. Then there was the whole abandonment issue that Tahon still hadn’t worked through. Oh and the marrying of the enemy’s son…By the spirits, Tahon didn’t even know if his father would…No it didn’t really matter if Solas approved of Tahon’s choice in lifemate. Short of killing An’nas, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. 

“ _What is that Dalish saying? May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent?_ ” Banal laughed as Tahon glared down at him. 

“Ha ha, very funny.” 

***** 

Just as everything else Banal did, Crestwood was a mess. First there was undead by the gates, then the jumpy ass mayor. He could tell the man was hiding something in his heart. Something about the dam. His story about the darkspawn breaking the dam controls seemed off, a slight shake to his voice. His eyes darted around ever so slightly. He was lying. 

“You’d have to evict the bandits in the old fort…I couldn’t ask you to risk your life like that.” He said meekly. 

Banal blew his breath out his nose. His magic, which was starting to feel sore again, was keeping him warm, so it looked like he was blowing smoke out, like some dragon. His eyes narrowed. “ _Dahn’direlan_ …” He growled. 

“W-what?” The Mayor blinked at what was surely an elven curse. 

“One who punches bees, an idiot.” Tahon helpfully translated. The human looked insulted. “Seriously though, do you think some bandits really stand a chance against the Inquisitor and Company?” 

“I-alright. Here’s the key to the dam house.” He held out the old key like he was afraid to let it go. That darkness inside him flared, fear making it burn darker. “But Inquisitor, I would not linger there.” 

“If it smells like the rest of this place, you need not worry about that.” Banal grumbled. He was going to smell like a wet dog’s corpse for weeks if this keeps up. 

***** 

Banal’s head was throbbing by the time they had gotten to the second level of the fort. His throat worked endlessly to try not to throw up. The world had gotten fuzzier around the edges. At times he felt like he was floating in water. 

And his spells just got more chaotic. 

Lightning would strike randomly near them, deafening them. Fire licked the air around him occasionally. Even ice would just start creeping out from him. Which just exhausted him more. He could feel himself…slipping, his control over his magic dwindling away. 

But it would only get so much worse. 

Tahon kept a close eye on the Forgotten One. He was leaning a bit too much on his spear. His motions weren’t graceful or fast, but weary and disjointed. Like his mind was flickering in and out. 

“ _Father…_ ” Tahon said quietly. He hardly called Banal that, so the dark elf turned. “ _Perhaps you should rest._ ” 

“ _There’s bandits to be killed._ ” Banal stated simply. 

“ _We could take care of them…_ ” The dark elf only snorted before he continued up the last flight of stairs. Tahon could hear the bandits preparing one last great defense. His stomach twisted, but he kept his air of cockiness as he swaggered after the Inquisitor. 

Something was telling him, he should just knock Banal unconscious. It might be safer that way. As it was, the Inquisitor couldn’t afford to be expending magic. And, while Tahon knew enough healing magic to close wounds, he wasn’t Nenara or Lotus. He didn’t have near as much training and experience to keep someone’s heart beating after they used most of their Life Magic. 

The bandits were waiting for them. Blackwall and Tahon immediately took up the front position with Banal between them and the other two. Tahon prayed to the spirits that the Inquisitor wouldn’t try to use any spells and just stick to his staff. 

But since when did the spirits ever answer his prayers? 

At first everything went fine. Blackwall held the line, keeping enemies from getting to the others. Tahon kept the enemies dazed and staggering. The two had finally figured out how not to get in the way of the other, how to compliment the other. 

Blackwall was more defensive, blocking strikes and then hammering the enemy hard. Tahon was more of a strike fast and often kind of fighter. If fighting was a dance, Blackwall was more of a slow waltz, Tahon a fast acrobatic dance. So to fight well, Blackwall let Tahon hassle the enemies to him or away from the others. 

Which wasn’t hard. The elf was quite good at taunting and pissing people off so much they became sloppy. The amount of trash talking that came from him was amazing. Things like ‘A baby spider hits harder than you’ or ‘if you are this shitty at sword fighting, then I feel sorry for your lovers’ where the only mild comments he made. 

Dorian and Varric just helped to disperse crowds when they got too concentrated. Banal, not one to let others steal his thunder of course, couldn’t help but set up fire glyphs under the bandits’ feet. A static cage helped contain the enemies as well. But, like most enemies, the bandits seemed to realize that the dark elf was the heaviest hitter. Despite Tahon actually stone fisting one over the edge. 

Normally, Banal could’ve handled it. But the fuzziness had crept steadily through his vision. To the point that the world seemed to be underwater or through a glass bottle. Black had begun to eat at the edges again, but not in his usual battle-rage way. His chest labored to breathe. Each breath felt like fire down his throat, his lungs filled with smoke. He barely felt a bandit’s blade slam against his shoulder. It couldn't cut through the three layers of armor, but it knocked him forward a few steps. The world began to spin. 

But more than that, Banal felt something rising inside him. Like he had when he was spell purged, the darkness inside him began to move of its own accord. It started to uncoil. It slid up like ghost hands clawing their way up his neck to his face. 

And then he was pulled under. 

***** 

Shit. That’s all Tahon could think. Shit. Shit. Shitty shit shit shit. He didn’t know what was up with the Inquisitor, but something was definitely off. His eyes were unfocused, looking at the world like he was dazed. His movements were delayed like it barely registered he had been hit by a sword. 

Tahon fade stepped, becoming material just at the right second to cut into the bandit’s stomach. With his other sword he slashed the unprotected throat. He caught a glimpse of Dorian and Varric. The dwarf shot off an exploding bolt, knocking away a few bandits who were coming at Banal. Dorian quickly cast a barrier around him and Tahon. Blackwall charged a few bandits. 

They could handle this, he tried to convince himself. 

Then the fucking Chief showed up. The guy was obviously compensating for something with his giant ass maul…shaped like a whale? Tahon would never understand humans. And if the maul wasn’t shitty enough, he brought reinforcements. 

'Thanks a lot, spirits,’ Tahon growled in his head as he spun his swords around. He took a calming breath before fade stepping. His right blade pierced one man’s eye and the left stabbed into a woman’s neck. He spun, sending the bodies towards his oncoming assailants and freeing his blades. He feinted to the left. 

A stone fist slammed against one of their skulls. The helmet caved into the skull. Blackwall shield bashed an attacker to his right. Dorian ducked away from a blade. Varric shot off three bolts into the man’s stomach. 

And Banal…wasn’t doing anything. Just sort of standing there. Tahon was about to shout. Then a sudden influx of magic stopped the words. It was heavy, it made the rain heavy. Not that the bandits seemed to feel it, that unearthly chill. 

The Anchor lit up brightly. A sword pierced into Banal’s shoulder. That seemed to snap something. Everything seemed to happen in a matter of seconds. Black erupted from the Mark, seeping out like a fog. It wrapped around the Inquisitor. His eyes became clearer, pupils slitting as black overtook the white. The elf snarled, an inhuman sound. The bandit barely had time to widen his eyes. A gauntleted fist smashed into his face. Blood fell from his nose. Then another came and another. Black fire erupted at his feet. 

Screams turned everyone’s attention to the Inquisitor. The bandit was flailing around, trying to put out the black fire that gave off a purple glow. But slowly the fire started to turn his skin black, not from heat, but from cold. 

The man froze in place. 

Slowly the dark elf turned his head towards the Chief. The black fog had a shape now as it hovered around Banal. It was big, with what looked like horns perhaps. Beyond that it was hard to tell what it was other than a shadow. But it moved with the Inquisitor. 

The rain couldn’t even touch it. The water droplets seemed to move around it, or be suspended away from it. And it gave off an unnerving chill. The ground crackled with ice. Frost swirled around Banal’s feet. 

He plucked out the sword and tossed it on the ground. Varric knew that face. It was the same apathetic look the elf always had on in the beginning. The one that said you mean nothing to me. And that white streak was covered by the shadow. 

The bandits shifted on their feet. Even the mundanes could sense the pure malice, the raw power of the being before them. It was like facing death itself. One of them swallowed their fear. It was just one elven mage. It was just a trick. Anyone could die. 

He ran forward, sword held high. Tahon yelled for him to stop, fearing what was to come next. In a quick, flawless motion, Banal crouched. His spear thrust forward at just the right second. The bandit’s war cry turned to a gurgled mess as he got a mouth full of spear tip. The Inquisitor yanked his weapon out. 

A fade step brought him behind another bandit. His magic suddenly grew stronger. The sheer weight forced the enemy to the ground. The magic formed a spirit fist. It slammed down on his back. Again. Cracks formed on the stones. 

Others tried to rush to their ally’s aid. The shadow spread, engulfing the area around the Inquisitor. It formed a type of barrier that repelled blades and stopped anything from entering. One bandit struck at it. Ice, black as the fire, crept up the blade to her hand. It quickly overtook her and her screams. 

Then the shadow shrank back. The bandit was flattened. Blood and what was once organs pooled out from him. And the Inquisitor was nowhere. Tahon swallowed. His heart was starting to beat faster. He couldn’t tell you what was happening, just that his body knew there was danger here. 

He backed up to Dorian and Varric, looking around for Banal. He hoped that the man could still tell friend from foe. Blackwall retreated as well, keeping his shield up. For a second it seemed that the Inquisitor was just gone. 

Then a bandit lost his arm. The air shifted, melted away to reveal the demon-eyed elf. Screams echoed off the stones. Banal didn’t even bother killing the man. He just watched as the others scattered away. He stepped over the wailing bandit.His eyes locked with the Chief’s. He started towards him. A few bandits got in the way. One lost her head. Another’s chest was spilt open, and the last lost his organs as the Inquisitor’s spear spun in a diagonal arch. 

Tahon was quite thankful he hadn’t eaten anything today. He had seen a lot of atrocities in war. Planting heads on spikes. Impaling still living people on poles. But somehow this was far more unsettling to him. The dwarf and humans’ faces grew paler as they watched the Inquisitor stop the maul with a single hand. 

Lightning flashed. Thunder hid the scream as a thorny vine stabbed through the Chief’s leg. It wrapped itself around and around, squeezing tighter and tighter until…Snap. The large man fell to one knee. 

Banal’s fist met his face. A few cuts opened from the metal feathers. A cheekbone cracked as another fist smashed into him. The man threw a wild punch that landed in the elf’s side. He staggered a few steps. His face turned feral, the pupils widened for a split second. He opened his fist. The man’s head snapped to the side. Large gouges marked the claws path across his face. Flesh hung off in a few places. Frost began to eat at the blood, the muscle. His head snapped to the other side as Banal clawed with the opposite hand. The elf looked down at his prey with a curious look. One of a king looking down at a pathetic prisoner. 

He rose one hand. The ground shook, tiny rocks and water droplets floating up. Time seem to be suspended. Magic gathered. Then he held out that hand. The magic formed a spirit hand over the human. Black swirled on the inside underneath the ethereal armor. 

Ever so slowly, Banal began lowering his hand. The magic pressed down on the human. The sheer weight of it might as well have been a giant slab of granite. First he tried to push it back up, but it just pressed down harder. Slowly he was lowered face first onto the ground where the weight just continued to press. The stone cracked under the weight. Blood began to pour from his mouth. Then his head and ribs caved in and he stopped moving. 

Only then did Banal turn to look at his allies. Blackwall was ready to attack if he had to. Varric and Dorian shared a concerned look. Tahon carefully sheathed his swords. 

“Blackwall…Put your sword away.” He whispered. His voice shook. He saw how the Inquisitor was watching the blade. Like how a wolf would as it circled you. He wasn’t sure they should antagonize Banal at that moment. Not when they had no freaking clue what was going on. 

“Are you insane?” The Warden hissed, eyes not leaving their Inquisitor for a second. 

“Probably. But I don’t think this is a fight we could win. Put. Your sword. Away.” 

Blackwall glanced back at the duelist once before slowly sheathing his sword. Banal cocked his head to the side as he turned to study them. It was like he had never seen them before. 

Tahon took a careful step forward. “H-hey, old man, good job. I see you still got it.” He tried though his voice was shaking terribly. He tried not to look down as he felt blood under his feet. The shadow shifted, shrank. “So…this is a nice fort…” 

Banal blinked a few times. Slowly a flicker of recognition flashed in his eyes. The shadow shrunk more. The black began to creep back into the Mark. A few cracks showed a light. And then the black just dissolved. Banal’s eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled to the ground. 

“Shit.” Varric grumbled as they all ran towards the Inquisitor. Tahon pushed him over on his back and bent down. He listened carefully. He could hear labored breathing coming from the Forgotten One. 

“So is he still breathing?” Dorian asked. His voice betrayed his fear. Tahon nodded once. He held his hands over Banal’s chest and began a healing spell. His magic was even more devastated than before, barely hanging on. 

“Next logical question would be, what the hell was that?” Varric asked, looking around at the corpses. He quickly figured out that was a bad idea. So he focused back on the duelist. 

Tahon shook his head. “I…I don’t know.” But he was probably going to get yelled at for it all the same. “Varric go raise the flag and get Inquisition soldiers here. Blackwall help me get the old man somewhere dry.” 

***** 

Banal awoke with a bloody awful headache. Like he had drank an entire tavern. He didn’t want to move. His eyes felt like his eyelids were sand. His chest labored to breathe. Air sounded hollow as it went down. Beyond that he felt too hot. 

He opened his eyes to see if he was on fire or something. He found himself in a tent stripped down to his leather trousers. His body didn’t have any injuries so he couldn’t tell why he hurt. And his head hurt just trying to think passed the fog that was in there. 

He slowly pushed himself up to his elbows just the tent flap opened. 

“Hey look who decided to rejoin the living!” Tahon joked. Banal tried to snort, but found such action hurt. The younger elf entered the tent quietly. He gently pushed the dark elf back down. “Don’t get up so fast, I’m still not sure what the hell happened.” There were no injuries to be found, save for the blood in his eyes. Even the Anchor was stable. So nothing had tried to come through it. “What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Banal furrowed his eyebrows at the ceiling. “Getting hit by a sword and then losing consciousness.” He rolled his head over. “Did you at least kill the bandits?” 

Tahon scratched at the back of his neck. He had changed out of his armor into just his fur trimmed coat and a pair of leather trousers he wore around Skyhold. “You did.” 

“I did?” Banal frowned in confusion. He passed out, how could he have killed the bandits. 

“Long, frightening story short you got…engulfed by a shadow and kinda went berserk.” He began to change the cloth on his father-in-law’s forehead. Banal sighed as cold touched his head. It helped take away some of the ache the heat caused. “Used quite a bit of magic too.” 

He could recall ever doing that before. He had never lost control over his magic. And engulfed by a shadow? How was that even possible? Sure his magic sometimes manifested as a shadow cloak, but Tahon knew that. So he was obviously talking about something different. 

“Tell me exactly what happened, Tahon.” 

***** 

“And that’s when you passed out and we set up shop here.” Tahon finished. Banal had moved into a sitting position, nursing a cup of elfroot and embrium tea. It helped to take away some of the ache and ease his breathing some. But his head was still cloudy and he still had a fever. “Oh we drained the lake too. The controls weren’t as broken as the Mayor said they were.” 

“I guessed that’d be the case.” Banal snorted as he contemplated what had happened. 

“Right, you and your freaky seeing into people’s hearts magic.” Tahon looked around. “Your human would probably like to see you.” 

Banal glared at the term ‘your human’. He had no claim on Dorian. He was free to go whenever he wished. Hopefully he wished to go now. Banal didn’t like this whole blacking out and suddenly becoming demonic for lack of a better term. It just held the potential of him slaughtering his allies. 

The sudden light feeling in his chest made his body tense. Which just made everything hurt more. A hiss escaped him. Tahon placed a hand on his chest, pouring healing magic into him. 

“Not as good as your son, but it should at least get you on your feet.” Tahon shrugged. Banal took deep breaths to try and get everything under control. “Just let us know when you are ready to go close the Rift and meet Hawke.” Tahon stood and began to open the flap. “And, old man?” 

“Why do you insist upon calling me that?” Banal growled. 

Tahon ignored him, “Let us take care of the fighting, okay? Don’t think we can handle another episode.” And then he left Banal to his thoughts. 

***** 

“Good you’re finally here.” Ambrose greeted them outside the cave. A particularly grumpy looking elf was beside him. His white hair was a wet mess from all the rain and he looked about as pleased as a wet cat. 

“Broody?” Varric said in disbelief. Fenris looked over at the dwarf. 

“Varric.” He stated simply before turning his attention to Banal. His eyes narrowed. He had heard news of the Inquisition while he was running after his idiotic Champion, but none of them mentioned the Inquisitor to be so…He couldn’t describe it. It was just a feeling he felt near magisters when he was still a slave. His lyrium markings even reacted, burning. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Tracking down this idiot.” He jerked his head towards Hawke. Who just sighed loudly. His disappearing act was going to land him in the dog house…Not that he didn’t expect that. He just didn’t think he’d have to start dealing with it now. 

Varric chuckled at how the elf glared at his lover. “You should’ve seen this one coming, Rose.” 

Ambrose glared at his best friend. “While perhaps if some people didn’t take forever to get here, I wouldn’t have gotten caught.” 

“ _Ir abelas_ , Hawke, but I had to see to…a personal matter before coming here.” Banal bowed slightly. He hid his grimace of pain by tilting his head. “Your Warden friend is lucky she was not caught in Crestwood. I met other Wardens on my way here.” Which was very interesting. 

They felt very different from Blackwall. They held a darkness inside their veins. He didn’t. He had darkness, sure. But it was in his heart. A secret he didn’t want shared. These Wardens had darkness in their blood, a taint. Which peaked the Inquisitor’s curiosity. 

“I know, we saw them. Just more good men following bad orders.” Ambrose shook his head. “Come, she should still be in here hopefully.” 

They entered the cave quietly. There were bloodstains on the ground from a battle. Nugs had just about beaten them away, but there was still evidence. 

“Commander Lyllie seems to have been a busy woman.” Fenris commented. 

“More like people are just idiots and want to pick a fight with her.” Varric muttered as they came to a door with a symbol painted on it. “After you, Smiley.” 

Banal rolled his eyes as he pushed it open. He felt her inside. A far more potent darkness beat through her heart. He could not see anyone, but he felt them. Two. There was the Warden; her steps were silent, calling on the darkness in her blood to keep her silent. Then the other was quiet, but Banal could still hear his heart as he walked into the room. A blade scraping against its sheathe sounded from his right. He didn’t move as the tip pressed against his jugular. 

Hawke’s eyes widened before he quickly entered the room as well. “It’s just us. Plus the Inquisitor and Company I suppose.” 

Slowly the blade left his neck and he could turn to look at the fabled Warden. Banal couldn’t help but blink in confusion. His eyes had to drift down nearly a foot to look at her. Her flaming orange hair was pulled into two braided buns. Piercing hazel colored eyes glared up at him. She held herself like a general. 

“Pleasure to meet ya, Inquisitor. Warden Commander Lyllie Tabris-Arainai at your service.” She stuck out a hand. Banal hesitantly shook her hand. She had twin daggers on her back, a sword on her hip. She wore light Warden armor with two belts across her chest. One held throwing daggers, the other pouches. A single gold earring hung from her left ear. 

Suddenly an elven man appeared next to her. He wore a black cloak with silver armor and smirk. But before he oculd even open his mouth to speak, Lyllie was talking. “This is my husband Zevran.” 

The blond elf pouted. “You never let me introduce myself, mi amor.” He had a thick Antivian accent. 

“Have you met yourself?” Lyllie laughed. Zevran frowned at his small wife. 

“You are so cruel to me.” He feigned being wounded as she pushed his shoulder. Ambrose chuckled. Ten years later and the two still acted like they were on their honeymoon. The former Crow then turned his attention to Banal. He looked him up and down. He seemed…normal. Just a Dalish mage wearing rather form fitting armor that Zevran wasn’t going to complain about. 

Banal narrowed his eyes at the smaller elven man, warning him to look somewhere else. The assassin only grinned. “So, Warden Commander, Hawke tells me you may know something about the Wardens disappearing right around the time Corypheus shows up.” 

Lyllie wandered back to her table and sat herself on the edge. “Yeah a bit.” She shrugged. “See, when Hawke killed Corypheus the first time around, Weisshaupt was perfectly happy to say that was that. But, Weisshaupt doesn’t know everything I do.” Lyllie paused, trying to figure out what was safe to say. It wasn’t like she was part of the Order anymore. No apparently letting one darkspawn live gets you kicked out. Not that the general masses know she was no longer sanctioned by Weisshaupt. A misconception she indulged in often. 

“Archdemons…they’re little bastards see? They can appear dead, but then suddenly their soul goes into the next darkspawn and we start the whole thing over again. I feared that Corypheus might be able to do the same thing…only rather than a darkspawn he uses Grey Wardens…A…friend of mine thinks I’m right too.” 

Banal cocked an eyebrow at her hesitation. “I suppose that might explain why Corypheus is up and walking around. But what of his archdemon?” 

Lyllie shook her head. “It’s not an archdemon. I fought one, so I know. I hear no whisperings of darkspawn or the Archdemon and I’m more sensitive to that shit than most. Joys of Joining during a Blight.” She rolled her eyes. 

“If there’s no Blight coming, then it shouldn’t be odd for the Wardens to disappear, yes?” Dorian interjected. Lyllie puffed out her cheeks before letting the air out slowly. 

“Ordinarily yeah. But…several months ago I got called to Orlais. Right around the time I hear news of Corypheus attacking Haven. The Warden Commander in Orlais, Clarel, asked for my help. Apparently all the Wardens in Orlais have begun hearing the Calling.” 

“And the Calling is…?” Tahon prompted. 

“It tells a Warden when they are going to be overtaken by the Taint. We say our goodbyes and head into the Deep Roads for one last hurrah.” She shrugged. 

“So every Warden hears that? They think they’re dying?” Ambrose’s eyes widened as the woman nodded. “What about you?” He noticed how Zevran took Lyllie’s hand, holding it tightly as she nodded once more. “Maker…” 

The Warden Commander then rose her chin defiantly. “I know this to be a false Calling. It’s in my head, not in my veins. But the other Wardens can’t tell that…” She scratched the back of her head. An unexpected perk of Avernus’s potion was that she was more aware of the Taint in her blood. And this Calling wasn’t from her blood, no matter how hard it tried to make her think otherwise. “So anyway. Along comes this Tevinter mage guy with a plan. An insane plan, but that seems to be the thing for Tevinters.” 

Dorian snorted, refraining from commenting. 

“Summon a bunch of demons, put them into the Deep Roads and kill the remaining Old Gods as they sleep.” Zevran finished. He shook his head. “Because summoning demons has always worked so well in the past for the Wardens.” Lyllie snorted in agreement. She had a freaking fortress that had been overrun by summoned demons. 

“Logically I get the plan. I understand it. But it’s still a shite plan.” 

“How can you understand a plan to summon demons, Lyllie?” Ambrose asked. His mind was still in shock from all of this. Mad men drunk on blood magic usually made his life that much more difficult. 

The Warden sighed loudly. “We are the only ones who can kill Archdemons. If we all die, or think we die, whose going to stop the next Blight? But killing the Old Gods as they slumber…before they are tainted? That could work in theory. No Taint means a Grey Warden doesn’t have to deliver the final blow.” She shrugged. “Besides, Grey Wardens do what they have to end Blights whether or not one has started.” 

“But summoning demons—“ 

“Is a shitty last resort, yeah, but if it was the only way to end the Blight, you damn well believe I’d do it in a heartbeat.” She glared at her friend. Then she softened. “Thing is it’s not the only way because we aren’t dying. But everyone thinks they are so they’re desperate and this wack-job Tevinter is the only one with a plan. Which I opposed by the way.” 

“And got her former allies hunting us.” Zevran piped in. As though, he’d let them get a clear shot. 

Banal nodded in understanding as he leaned against his spear. “I see. I was wondering when the demon army showed up.” He sighed. “Do you know anything else about their plans, Warden Commander?” 

Lyllie flicked out one of her throwing knives. A flick of her wrist sent it flying into a torn old map she had commandeered from a shop back in Ferelden. Dorian winced. Didn’t she know that it took months for someone to make that old thing? Months! And she just goes and stabs it! Right now she was just confirming that Fereldens were barbarians all. “Zev got close enough to some Wardens saying they were headed to the Western Approach. I believe that’s where the ritual is taking place.” 

“Well that’s something I suppose.” Banal rubbed his temples. He supposed it figured that he had just come from the desert and now he has to go back. And that he had to once again save idiots from their own idiocy. At this point, his job was causing his headache to get worse. 

He wanted a vacation already. 

***** 

Lyllie couldn’t place it. Her stomach twisted to the point where it was painful. Her very blood felt like it was boiling. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she watched the Inquisitor head for their camp. Her steps slowed until she stopped. 

Every cell in her body had locked up when she saw him. She **felt** him coming. Her heart started racing and she had the distinct urge to fight. Yet he looked completely normal… 

He wasn’t a Warden; he heard no Calling after all. But then why did her senses suddenly start flashing like a meteor shower in his presence? It felt like the Taint (something she was now acutely aware of even for a Warden thanks to Avernus’s potion), but it wasn’t. It was different. It felt older. 

And she sure as hell didn’t like it. 

“Mi amor?” Zevran called as he looked back towards her. He wore that worried expression again. It was the one he wore everyday it seemed as she tried to fight against the Calling. 

Lyllie gave him a slight smile. “It’s nothing.” She said as she walked up next to him. The assassin snorted. 

“I know that face, amor. That is not your nothing face.” Zevran chuckled, brushing her orange hair back. His thumb lingered on her cheek. 

She sighed, eyes finding the speck of the Inquisitor. “Something’s off with him.” She finally stated. 

“He is rather…cold for someone who is supposed to be Andraste’s Herald.” 

“No not that.” She shook her head. “He **feels** off. Like…like a darkspawn. Even from here I can still sense him.” Zevran’s hand fell away as he too looked off towards the dark elf’s party. 

“Is he corrupted?” He asked quietly. Lyllie shook her head 

“He’s not a shriek, or a Warden. He’s something different. Something older than the Taint…Maker’s breath I wish Avernus was still around…” She rubbed the back of her neck. There was another thing bothering her. Morrigan had written about the Temple they went to, how it felt like the Deep Roads and what have you. She wouldn’t know anything for certain until she got to Skyhold, but if the Inquisitor lived in an area filled with some sort of corruption…Then there were very few possibilities. None did anything to settle her stomach. 

***** 

Finally back at Skyhold, they had a chance to dry out and relax. Sort of. A blizzard hit the mountains just as Banal and company arrived. Reports were given and the mounts taken away and then everyone bunkered down. Operations ceased for the time being, people who weren’t Banal and the advisors took time to do small things. 

Dorian began researching more about Corypheus, not that there was a lot to find. But it was something to do at least. Most books in the library were Southern Chantry drivel. He had tried Cassandra’s _Sword and Shields_ but he couldn’t even finish the last one. Varric was a good friend, but a terrible romance author. 

Said dwarf was actually writing the next chapter of that series thanks to Banal finding out their Seeker’s dirty little secret. Both of them agreed that they couldn’t let this opportunity go. It was just too funny. 

Cassandra continued to look into the reports Josephine had collected on the whereabouts of the Seekers and the Lord Seeker. Everything was pointing to a fortress in Ferelden, which didn’t surprise her any. Ferelden seemed to be the focal point of much chaos. 

Vivienne had somehow managed to get a court painter to come to Skyhold along with her seamstress. Apparently she found Samahlnan, Rithara, Sulahn’mi, and Vhena’s company preferable to most others. Or she liked using people as dolls. Banal figured it was the second one. Not that Vhena wasn’t ecstatic to get new clothes. Or Samahlnan. Rithara and Sula didn’t really care. 

Rithara spent a lot time down in the Undercroft with Dagna. The forge was familiar to her, the faint hum of a rune that was just activated a comfort. And Dagna was all too happy to ask her millions of questions about how she used her magic, how magic was different before and what have you. Nenara even started to joke how they adopted the dwarf with as much time as Rith spent down there. 

With the snow piling up, training was on hold. And for the most part, Commander Cullen was happy to let his men enjoy the break. Unless you were the unlucky few who pissed him off by being little shits. Those got to shovel snow, clean the icicles off the roofs, among other grunt jobs. 

Morrigan talked with some of the elves quite a bit. Her son often played with Vhena. Sulahn’mi stayed in near the fire. Her home was never very cold and they certain did not get snow. She passed the time cleaning armor, sharpening swords, or helping Nehnlin and Zeyras clean the Grand Hall. Most of the elves lacked winter coats since they never dreamt of living high in the mountains (except for Tahon whose armor was already fur lined). So they all mostly stayed near fires or their rooms. A few, like Soralan and Samahlnan, helped the Ambassador keep the nobles in check. 

The advisors and Banal engaged in long war meetings. They kept arguing over whether or not the Inquisitor should be allowed to go to the Western Approach. He was weakened enough as it was. If the Wardens were using blood magic as the Warden Commander feared, they could not risk him being incapacitated or injured. Or him having another Crestwood episode (at least not until they knew what it was exactly). 

Banal found it stupid of course. He was going to deal with the Wardens sooner or later, might as well get it over with now. But the three advisors were having nothing of it. Finally they agreed to let Nehnlin and Sulahn’mi do some recon around the Approach before Banal set off. They were to see where the Wardens were hiding if they could and bring back any information they could. 

Then Banal could deal with rogue Wardens as he saw fit. 

***** 

Dorian felt an odd sensation as he reached for his door knob. Like something was off on the other side. Normally, or rather back home, he wouldn’t think much of it. It was usually just something being moved, though this line of thinking is what led to him being captured and held captive by his own father. 

Here in Skyhold, Sera had the tendency to enter locked rooms. He had Josephine get his enchanted just for that reason. He was rather fond of not having rotting apple cores in his room or a bucket of water over his door after all. 

So far that had deterred the Red Jenny from getting in. She was a master at locks, but this was an enchanted dwarven lock and she had on numerous occasions cursed him for having it. 

So he should be fine. No doubt the feeling was from stress or not being able to do anything really save drink in the library and read books. The Inquisitor was being hassled with every tiny thing now that he didn’t have anywhere to go. So he hadn’t been by for his lessons as of late. In fact Dorian hadn’t seen much of him, save for at breakfast. He tried not to feel pained at that. The elf had duties that meant he couldn’t always be there. He was okay with that. It was the tiny little thoughts that crept into his head that bothered him. Thoughts like he had all his elves back now, he was probably tired of having a human. Or he was avoiding Dorian. Things like that that were petty and stupid. Dorian had no claim to the elf, so he had no reason to be jealous. 

Dorian shook his head and forced his shoulders to relax as he opened the door. He was just being paranoid. No one would be in there…He thought as he walked in. He glanced over the room before turning to shut the door. Nothing was amiss. Not a speck of dust disturbed. 

‘See Dorian? You were getting worked up for nothing.’ 

“Your rooms are rather frigid. How do you stand to sleep here?” a very familiar voice called from behind Dorian. 

The Altus’s heart raced as he jumped and spun around. His eyes dilated as though they were facing Death itself. Lounging in Dorian’s armchair with his legs over one arm was Banal. A book was in his lap opened to a page with elvish script scrolling across it. The chair was clean now that Dorian looked. The elf didn’t even lift his eyes from the book. 

“What…why are you…how did you?” Dorian sputtered looking at the door and then back to the elf. 

Banal placed a finger to mark his spot before he slowly looked up. He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re babbling.” 

Dorian took a moment to gather his thoughts that were scattered by his rapid heartbeat. The elf hadn’t been there when he opened the door, yet it was evident by the blanket pulled from Dorian’s bed that now made a nest on the chair that Banal had been in here for a while. 

More important was how he had gotten in. Dorian supposed as Inquisitor he could just ask to be let in…The Tevinter frowned at the thought. 

“How did you get in here?” Dorian’s voice betrayed his temper. Banal blinked, sensing it even before the human has said anything. At least that part of his magic was working correctly. 

“The door.” Banal said as though that was obvious. No he crawled in through a mouse hole…He was unsure why the human was cross. Perhaps he wasn’t allowed inside his rooms? Some were like that. Or perhaps Dorian was hiding something in here that Banal wasn’t supposed to see. A private reserve? Some saucy letters he was sending some man back home? 

“How?” Dorian rolled his eyes. “The door was locked.” 

Banal shrugged. “And locks can be picked.” Dorian’s mind took a moment to process that. The Inquisitor sound so nonchalant about it that for a second Dorian forgot that his lock was supposed to be unpickable. 

The Altus looked at the lock, the elf, and back at the lock. “It’s an enchanted dwarven lock…” He said, anger evaporating into confusion. 

Banal’s eyebrows went up, “Is that what it was?” He sounded surprised. “No wonder it was trickier to open. And here I thought I had just lost my touch. That’s a relief.” The elf turned back to his book. 

Dorian wasn’t sure whether to be more surprised the Inquisitor knew how to lockpick or that he thought he was just rusty rather than the lock was enchanted. “Since when can you lockpick?” 

“Since my first century or so.” Banal replied smoothly. 

Dorian chose to ignore that comment. It still unsettled his head when he thought about it. “I suppose the next logical question would be why.” 

“Why I learned?” 

“Why you picked my lock.” Dorian took a few steps forward. “Your rooms are far warmer and larger with their own bathrooms.” Dorian was quite jealous at the elf’s bathroom. Even back home he didn’t have such a luxurious space. 

The elf looked up with a frown. He made the face that said he was debating on saying something. “But yours…no one suspects to find me here or rather they don’t bother me here.” Banal final gave. Dorian had to fight to keep his smirk off his face. And he lost. 

“Are you hiding from everyone or a particular someone?” The elf narrowed his eyes, deepening his frown. “A particular someone who looks a lot like you?” 

Banal huffed, “Yes, yes, fine, I’m hiding from my daughter.” Vhena and An’nas had both constantly been worrying over him after he returned from Crestwood. No doubt Tahon had told them what happened. “She’s a little worrying busy body and I just want a few hours free from her pestering.” 

Dorian chuckled at the pout the elf gave him. “Perhaps she would be if her father wasn’t insistent on overexerting himself.” 

Banal huffed again, his pout something that Dorian shouldn’t find cute. “I am fine.” He hissed. It was Dorian’s turn to cock an eyebrow as he walked forward. He pressed the back of his fingers to Banal’s cheek. It was far warmer than it should have been, even with the elf’s affinity for fire and his little nest. 

“Says the man with a fever.” 

“It’s a fever. It’s not Death.” 

Dorian frowned, remembering Lotus explaining to them about life magic and how Banal’s wasn’t separate from his Fade magic. And how if he used too much, he’d become sick or not be able to keep his heart beating. And the fever was a sign of his depleted magic stores. 

The human stroked the elf’s cheek as he thought. Banal turned towards it, leaning into it as he had done at the Temple. Then he seemed to realize what he did and turned back to his book, pretending he didn’t just act like a cat. 

He couldn’t allow himself to fall into the trap the human kept laying. He couldn’t lose himself to the light feeling fluttering in his chest. He might forget why he was doing any of this. Already it was hard to find that dark reason, now that his children were in the world outside the Temple he’d have to rethink. 

He was certain he could still create a war that would swallow the world, but he’d have to make sure he wasn’t the source. His children made him vulnerable. So perhaps he could just pluck a few strings— 

Banal’s mind stopped as his body shivered when the Altus ran his fingers through his hair. It felt nice, so much so that the elf’s eyelids lowered. The human seemed determined to make that light burn away his dark thoughts. And if it felt this nice, Banal was content to let him get away with it. 

“You’re distracting me from my book.” He growled playfully. Dorian smirked. 

“You broke into my room, I think you owe me.” Banal snorted as the human nudged himself onto the arm Banal was leaning against. Rather than really move, the Inquisitor shifted to rest his head against the Tevinter’s leg, closing his eyes. 

For a few minutes, he just paid attention to Dorian’s fingers as they went from combing through his hair to stroking his ears. His ears kept twitching as he passed over particularly sensitive spot in the back near the tip. 

The Altus laughed, “Elf ears are far more sensitive than I had thought…and more…animate.” 

Banal frowned, concentrating on stopping his ears from moving. “You know how the eyes can tell no lies?” 

“Of course.” 

“Well, in Elvhen society, it’s the ears you have to watch. We can hide our emotions quite well in our faces, but it takes a great deal of training and thought to keep our ears from displaying them.” The human’s thumb barely brushed the tip of his ear. Another pleasurable shiver ran through Banal. Almost instantly, the elf leaned towards it. 

“And apparently they’re an erogenous zone.” Dorian laughed, doing it again. Banal turned his head to look up at the human. He might speak the common tongue quite well, but there were certain words that still eluded him. Like Chastind? Chasend? Or any of the Orlesian cities’ names. Or Dwarven cities. Or Qunari… 

“Erogenous?” Banal asked, having a feeling of being a child again. Dorian kept his smile as he kept stroking his ear. “If you keep that up, we’re going to have to move to the bed.” 

“And that’s a bad thing?” The human laughed. 

“Well I’ve just gotten to a good part in this book.” 

“Oh, my apologies for interrupting your reading, Inquisitor.” Dorian mocked. “I’ll try to refrain from distracting you further.” His fingers travelled down the elf’s neck, brushing the little hairs on the back of his neck. 

Banal hissed something in elvish as he moved his shoulders up. 

“I’m sorry was that another erotic spot for you or are you just ticklish?” 

Banal furrowed his eyebrows again, but he felt light, content. “I’m not ticklish…” Suddenly a sharp stabbing pain lit up inside his head. A hiss escaped him. His eyes squeezed shut. It felt like his head was swollen, pulsating with a nauseating pain. He could feel something clawing on the inside, wanting out. Like back at Crestwood. It seemed to strangle his breath, pushing him towards that thing in his head. 

“Banal…are you alright?” Dorian’s voice sounded far away, through water. Banal’s consciousness seemed to be drowning, something gripping his ankles and trying to pull him underwater. 

Then suddenly it went away. The elf’s body relaxed in a snap, his head falling back onto Dorian’s leg like he had just run a marathon. His breaths came out loudly, in huffs. A small shake spread through him. 

Dorian bit his lip, worrying. He didn’t know what was happening, only that it wasn’t good. The elf’s face was several shades paler, and as he stroked the elf’s head, he felt his fever start coming back down from where it had spiked. 

“Banal?” he kept his voice quiet, in case sounds hurt his head. 

The elf grunted, but didn’t open his eyes. 

“Are you alright?” He asked again. Slowly Banal cracked open his eyes. Then he sat up and turned to put his feet on the ground. His head held after-pains but it wasn’t the type of fire it was before. 

“I…” Banal took a shaky breath, trying to find some façade of calm. “I’m fine, Dorian. Just a sudden headache.” He stood. Black dotted his vision as the blood rushed from his head. Hands suddenly held him. 

“No you aren’t.” 

The elf blinked as his vision came back. Dorian held him steady, worried he’d do more than just get dizzy. “Dorian,” Banal sighed, exasperated. He had gone through this with Vhena a thousand times. “I’m fine, honest.” 

The human frowned as the elf righted himself. He tried to walk towards the door, to get away before his head got worse. But a hand gripped his wrist tightly. “Festis bei umo canavarum!” Dorian growled to himself. “Would you quit lying already? We all know you aren’t as fine as you say you are.” 

“I’m not lyi—“ 

“Like hell you aren’t. We all see it, how you are just a few shades paler, or how you breathe just slightly harder after a battle. How you lean heavily on your spear as you walk. We are with you nearly every damn day, Banal, we know when you aren’t you. 

“Yet when we ask, you lie to our faces for what? Some attempt at bravado? The mighty Inquisitor can’t ask for help? You can act strong for the masses all you want, but don’t think it’ll work on any of us here.” 

“Dorian, it’s just a headache, from the fever.” Banal tried, pulling at his hand. 

“A fever that means you’ve used too much of your magic.” Banal blinked, dumbfounded as though he wasn’t supposed to know that. “We all know. Lotus told us, explained how Elvhen had something called Life Magic in the common tongue and how yours, An’nas’s, and Vhena’s Fade Magic isn’t separate from your Life Magic, how if you use too much magic you might not have enough to keep your heart beating.” 

Banal’s eyes darted to the side. Of course, he should’ve expected the healer to explain that to them if they had asked. He was just hoping they wouldn’t have asked. His eyes fell to Dorian’s hand wrapped around his wrist. His thumb stroked his pulse gently. 

“Lie to the masses all you want, hell you can lie to everyone else. Don’t lie to my face.” 

Banal looked up at the strange words coming from the human. He sounded almost pleading. Like it hurt him to know Banal lied about being okay. Which was the exact opposite of what that lie was supposed to accomplish… In truth, Banal could pick up more worry in the human than before. 

Dorian watched as the elf’s mind ran back and forth. He seemed troubled, eyebrows furrowed. But he was also making that face. The face that he had when he apologized or asked for a better idea. The pained face that held no guards against the jumbled mess of emotions inside his head. 

His mouth opened slowly. The light flickered inside his chest again, growing stronger, chasing away some of the black in his hair. 

Only this time, the black fought back. 

***** 

Banal’s eyes glazed over, all expression leaving his face. Black slowly started to bleed into the whites of his eyes. Magic built in the air. Dorian felt like the room was shrinking on him. 

The elf seized a death grip on the human’s wrist, tight enough it was painful. A glance down showed the black that was around his nailbeds grew out, covering the nail. Slowly they lengthened into claws just as the black completely took over his eyes. The pupils turned into slits as they bore into Dorian. 

The magic was almost suffocating now. Dorian’s heart began to beat faster. This had to be a dream. He was dreaming and this was some shitty nightmare that he’d wake up from. He just had to wake up. 

The light in the room seemed to grow dim as a shadow surrounded Banal. The same shadow as the one in Crestwood. Dorian swallowed remembering the brutality that happened afterwards. 

But he couldn’t move again. His mind stalled as fear took over. The elf peeled back his upper lip in a snarl. His canines lengthened. He spoke something in elvish, voice gravelly with a demonic undertone. 

Then pain shot up the human’s arm. Black fire wrapped around his hand from the elf’s grip. It flowed down to the floor like water as it poured over Dorian’s flesh. Only it wasn’t hot. It was colder than ice. So cold it burned. 

A pained noise escaped from his lips as the elf watched him without an emotion to be found. Like he was watching an experiment take place. Dorian began to try and break free, pulling and tugging. 

His magic faded as he called it, like the shadow was absorbing it. And it only made the air thinner. Dorian felt his lungs struggle to breathe like the air was replaced by water. He had to wake up. 

But he wasn’t asleep, was he? This really was happening. Pain and fear made everything seem so much more vivid. The flames held different colors, only shown at certain angles. It gave off a purplish light. The only light now. Dorian’s lungs burned. His head swam. A scream built in his throat. 

Then the elf blinked. 

The fire disappeared. His death grip loosened enough for the human to break free. He held his hand to his chest and took several steps back. His heart might as well have been electrocuted as he stared at the Inquisitor. 

Banal squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his temples. Pain was everywhere. His fever seemed to burn hotter. At the same time, he was so cold. His chest felt tight. His body was heavy. Slowly he opened his eyes. 

He could smell the sulfuric residue of magical fire. He turned to find Dorian staring at him like he had grown two heads. He was cradling on of his hands to his chest. The bronze skin was pink and purple. Small areas were starting bleed from cracks. 

Banal’s heart stopped. Like Crestwood, he couldn’t remember what happened after his vision faded to black. But his body felt strange like it did then. Like something else had been moving it and he was just a passenger. 

His ears could hear faintly the frantic pace of the human’s heart. His magic, now even more depleted, felt fear pouring out of him. 

Neither of them spoke. They just looked at each other. What could Banal say anyway? Accidental or not, he had injured the human somehow. It didn’t really matter if he was conscious of it or not. He hurt him. A pain stabbed him in the chest. Something was wrong with him something he couldn’t control. 

And that frightened him. 

Banal took a few steps towards the door. He couldn’t say sorry. It’d be pointless. It would best if he just left. Preferably for good. “I…” He paused near the door, his back to Dorian. For some reason, his throat felt dry. The words felt painful. “I think we should stop…this, Dorian.” It would be safer that way. 

For the both of them. 

***** 

Dorian couldn’t quite fathom what had just happened beyond being burning. His hand hurt like hell. But his heart was going to so fast, his head couldn’t catch up to current events. He just stared at his door where the elf had disappeared through. 

What was that he just saw? It didn’t seem to be the Inquisitor, but it was. And that sudden influx of magic? It frightened him, sure, but he was also curious. But he doubted he’d get any answers from Banal. 

And then there’s the fact that it sounded like the Inquisitor was calling it quits. Which Dorian had prepared himself for, sure. He expected that this wasn’t going to be a real thing. But he had hoped…no it didn’t matter now. The elf said he was done, and that’s all that really mattered. 

Dorian’s hand throbbed. The fire had been cold, so cold it burned. Now he couldn’t really feel his fingers beyond the pain. It felt like they were swelling with each heartbeat. Slowly he took his hand away from his chest to look at it. 

It looked like any sort of burn really, but places had frost clinging to them. And if he turned his hand a certain away his skin would shimmer with ice crystals. So definitely not a normal burn… 

He doubted he could do much healing if he tried. Besides this wasn’t something he’d know how to heal. Magical fire was supposed to burn hotter than normal. This was cold. Like it burned away the very heat in the air and left nothing behind. Perhaps it was a special kind of elf fire like Veilfire. 

He could only hope so as he headed down to the infirmary, careful to hide his injury from the prying eyes of the court. 

Lotus, An’nas, and Nenara bustled around with surgeon as always. There was never any shortage of injured in Skyhold, more seemed to be brought in by the hour. And having people who could do both magic and traditional healing was a blessing. Probably put a lot of pressure off the surgeon as well. 

Dorian casually walked towards the tents and tables set up. Lotus was bandaging a woman’s arm, a bloody bowl of water sat next to him on the table. Gone were his black gloves, his fingers staining the white cloth red. 

“The infection should start to go away in a day or so. Just remember to keep clean bandages and that salve on and you won’t be missin’ an arm anytime soon.” The Lotusmaker smirked as the woman stood up and thanked him. The black eyed healer looked over at Dorian. “Well, Ser Dorian, what can we do for you?” 

The Altus looked around uneasily before holding out his injured hand. “I…burned myself while researching it seems, and it hasn’t healed yet.” The lie came out before he could stop it. The elf looked down at his hand, gently turning it palm up. Then he looked back at the human. Dorian got the unsettling feeling that the elf knew he was lying. 

“An’nas?” Lotus called over his shoulder. The young man stepped out of a tent carrying clean bandages. 

“Yes, Lotus?” 

“I think this is more your specialty.” Lotus stood and motioned towards Dorian before walking away. An’nas blinked as he set the bandages down. Then he focused on Dorian’s hand. 

“Here, sit.” He nodded towards the chair as he dumped the water and refilled it with ice. A snap melted it all as An’nas took the other chair. Carefully he picked up the human’s hand. 

“Burnt myself resear—“ Dorian started fidgeting. 

“Did Papae do this?” An’nas asked bluntly. His purple eyes flickered up to Dorian’s, glaring a warning to tell the truth. He had seen his father burn people like this before. But only when he was quite upset. Or… 

An’nas swallowed. Tahon had told him what happened in Crestwood, how his father “snapped”. Nothing good ever came of that side of his father. Saviik and Samyra found that out. Most of the other Forgotten Ones found that out if Nolahra’s story was true. There was a lot none of them knew, like what that other side was exactly, but An’nas knew enough to worry. 

Dorian flinched. “No…alright yes.” He gave, just to make the bard continue looking at his hand rather than glaring murder. 

“What the hell did you do?” An’nas asked harshly. His magic started to wrap around the burn. Tiny electrical currents broke the magic surrounding the burn, creating a weird humming against the Altus’s skin. 

“What did I do?” Dorian huffed. “I did nothing, just asked if he was alright and then I get burned.” 

An’nas frowned. So he wasn’t being threatened, so why? His eyebrows furrowed. For a while he said nothing as he healed the human’s hand. Neither of them liked the other per say. Dorian found An’nas as abrasive as his father, but not as charming. Of course An’nas wasn’t trying to get Dorian to like him. He was trying to figure out what the human gained by being with his father. 

So far he had come up with little. His father was an elf, so he was lesser than humans in this world. Beyond that, humans didn’t like same sex couples it seemed. So really Dorian was just damaging his social status being with him. What did he gain beyond a few nights of sex? An’nas couldn’t really answer that. 

Finally the burn healed, after a bit of fire magic to burn away the ice. All without a scar. An’nas nodded in satisfaction as he looked over his handy work. “There. Good as new.” Dorian was amazed at the apprentice. Banal made it sound like he was still learning how to healing a minor cut. “Dorian, may I ask you something?” 

The human blinked. The elf wore a guarded expression, making it impossible to know if this was a conversation that should be avoided. “I suppose that depends on the question.” 

The young elf bit his lower lip in thought. “Would you believe me if I said that wasn’t him?” As the human furrowed his brow in confusion, the elf spoke quickly, “I mean it was…sort of. But also not. There’s…there’s something wrong in him that sometimes gets out and he doesn’t even know it. But he doesn’t mean to…that probably doesn’t make sense.” An’nas scratched his cheek. 

“About as much sense as anything having to do with the Inquisitor.” Dorian quipped. To his surprise the young elf laughed. 

“Yeah, Papae is a bit of a conundrum.” An’nas looked up at the castle walls. “He keeps everyone at arm’s length so he can’t get attached because when he does, he’d do anything to keep you. Not that he’d admit that of course.” 

Dorian snorted. Well that just made him feel better didn’t it? Apparently Banal wasn’t very “attached” to him if he shoved him away. Or burned him away. 

“You are upset, hurt.” An’nas tilted his head to the side as he listened. The Altus was good at hiding things, barriers blocked most of his mind. But even An’nas’s magic could sense the hurt. 

“You know it’s rather frightening how both you, your sister, and your father all say that as a fact rather than a question.” 

“Family trait I suppose.” An’nas shrugged. “My guess is that Father ended things?” He didn’t even wait for Dorian to confirm or deny. “Dorian, I don’t like you and I’ve made no secret of that.” The Altus blinked at the bluntness of that statement. He opened his mouth to say something witty or indignant no doubt, but An’nas held up a hand. “I’ve never liked any person my father has ever been with. But…don’t give up on him so easily.” 

And with that the young elf stood and left the human to wonder what he was talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallasaywhatthehellwasthat?! I'm going to have some major fun these next few chapters.
> 
> And...who wants to guess what Banal is God of? Anyone? Anyone at all?
> 
> Thank you to everyone who comments! If ya'll have a tumblr and some free time we should chat (also a good place to get answers to things)! Which reminds me, thanks to everyone who has followed me! And to those who ask me things (whether from the memes or just random questions)! I love talking to you all!


	25. Corruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Fade, help comes in unusual forms...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So confession. I cheated in this chapter. Forgive me Mythal for I have sinned...XD
> 
> I used my own race of elves (Viiena) as a base for the Corruption Spirits. Made them a bit more demonic and Dragon Age Lore Friendly but they are still based on the Viiena. Also used their language...Mostly because I didn't think you wanted to wait forever for me to conceptualize the creatures.
> 
> You don't need to know the language used in this chapter as the characters don't even understand it, and the times you do need it, I translate it via dialogue. But for you overly-curious people, the translations are to be found in the end notes.
> 
> Originally was going to draw all the spirits we meet, but I'm lazy and suck at drawing. BUT I did manage [this!](http://sta.sh/01d45tbqrab6)
> 
> By request, I have created a [Character List](http://aeantizlkamenwati.tumblr.com/post/136478419211/nothing-character-list) to help you keep track of all my little elves. It's slightly less extensive than my cheat sheet, but should get the job done.
> 
>  **Author's warning: This chapter is extremely long** , nearly double the normal length (and I edited a lot of stuff out to save some time and a few parts aren't...as polished as I'd like them to be and for that I apologize). Please plan accordingly; I don't want to hear anyone say they skipped sleeping for this chapter. Seriously I promise it'll still be here when you wake up, blood mage's honor XD. Also some of you may like this one, while others are going to hate it, but I've been leading up to this chapter since day one so I can't really help ya there ;)

A few days passed before Nehnlin judged the sky would be harmless enough to fly in. All roads to Skyhold might well have been blocked after all. People were working on clearing them, but if the Wardens were indeed summoning demons, they needed to know sooner rather than later.

Everyone stood in awe as Nehnlin shook out his feathers after shifting. Sulahn’mi was frowning. She always hated heights. Still she was chosen for this mission. She would see it through even if it meant hopping on the back of a griffon. Nehnlin assured her it would only be a few hours. 

Zeyras and Nenara quickly fashioned a makeshift harness for her and Nehnlin. As Zeyras tugged on the Champion’s straps, ensuring they were tight against her heavy winter coat, Nenara was doing the same for the griffon. 

“Lady Sulahn’mi,” Zeyras spoke quietly, casting his eyes downwards and somehow not looking the much smaller elf in the eye, “This portion connects to Master Nehnlin’s harness. Remember to unhook it when you land.” He tugged on the middle. “Mistress Nenara and I believe to have created a suitable saddle for you, but it is untested and made of…questionable materials.” 

Sula nodded, trying to calm her stomach. It was starting to roll. What if they get caught in a storm up there? Or an arrow clips Nehnlin’s wing? Would they just spiral down into the ground? Would she have to disconnect herself in midair in hopes of not getting crushed by the griffon? What if the harness falls apart? 

She began chirping loudly as her anxiety ratcheted up. 

“Calm yourself, da’mi, N’lin is a skilled enough flyer to keep you both safe.” Banal’s voice floated over her. The griffon in question gave a screech, flaring his wings like he was insulted. Even his feathers ruffled. The dark elf snorted as he glanced over at the lion bird. 

Sulahn’mi swallowed, trying to control the tics pulling her lips back in a grimace. “You’ll be back on solid ground before you know it.” An’nas tried as he and the others came to see the two off. “Who knows? You might even come to like flying.” 

The flame haired warrior frowned at the thought. She liked her feet on the ground. She could fight that way. She knew which way was up and which was down. In the sky? What was above her, around her? Nothing. Below her was nothing. It was just a big ol’ void of nothing. How do you defend yourself in nothing? 

Nehnlin butted his head against her chest, pushing her back. He made a strange sort of purring noise. 

“I think he is trying to tell you he wishes to leave.” Banal translated as the griffon turned so she could mount him. “ _Dareth Shiral_.” He bowed slightly. The small warrior swallowed loudly before putting one foot in the makeshift stirrup. 

She shifted in the saddle, adjusting her swords, her posture before attaching her harness to Nehnlin’s. The griffon shook, straightening his feathers. Sulahn’mi gripped the leather strap tightly after putting on her face mask. 

With a loud roar, Nehnlin pushed off the ground and began spiraling up. And soon one could not even see but a dot as it flew west. 

Now they wait. 

***** 

Banal was not very good at waiting. Had it not been for some…unforeseen guests, he might have started climbing the walls. 

A few days after Sula and N’lin had left, the horns sounded. It was early. Far too early for the Inquisitor to be particularly coherent. There was still fog on the ground and the sky was barely being colored when the loud noise came through Banal’s windows. 

He groaned, trying to bury his head under his pillows and furs. His eyes were scratchy still. His body was heavy. Sometimes he didn’t leave his room until nearly dinner. He wasn’t sleeping, he was trying to. The flashes kept him from entering the Fade and he’d startle awake soon after he entered if he did. It was getting tiresome. 

The echoes of the horns died away and he started to try and doze again. Bits and pieces of things floated to him. He saw a dungeon, felt the lash, then water surrounded him and he was swimming without a care in the world. 

“Papae!” shattered whatever it was he was doing. He groaned, headache coming back in full force. Vhena bounded up his stairs, cheeks flushed as though she had run through the entire fortress. She wore her new winter coat over a tunic that was obviously made for someone far larger than her. 

Banal growled as he closed his one opened eye. “What is it now Vhena?” 

“Trouble.” She gasped. She was beginning to hate the mountain air. It was so thin. She could never catch her breath it seemed. She waited for her father to slowly sit himself up. “Some unexpected guests have arrived and…not everyone is pleased.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Especially anyone who would cause that big of a fuss. He highly doubted any of Corypheus’s people could even get near Skyhold. So who was that hated? 

He looked over at his daughter. Her brow was furrowed as well, her eyes troubled. Banal sighed loudly. It wasn’t like he was going to get anymore sleep anyway. He heaved himself out of bed, grabbing his coat to throw on as he went down the stairs. People were really lucky he slept in his trousers mostly. 

The floor chilled his feet as he and Vhena padded downstairs. “Someone is going to be executed if they worked themselves up for nothing.” He growled under breath, which hung in the air. Vhena giggled at her prickly father. Her ice magic kept her from feeling the biting cold. Then she blinked. Her father’s magic should protect him from it as well… 

Yet she could feel no warmth coming from him. There was no hum of a fire ward. Indeed, she saw small shivers wrack his body. She frowned. Worry began to eat at her mind. Why did everyone keep putting more and more things upon her father? He wasn’t well, could the world just take care of itself for a few weeks as he healed? 

The Great Hall was warmer, the fireplace beating back some of the chill. Still the forever opened doors threatened to overtake the flames’ heat. As they neared it, Banal began to hear loud voices. Even from up here, he could feel the tension. His magic flickered weakly. Anger and fear and hate were beginning to swirl in the air, becoming tangible. 

Banal looked over at his daughter. They shared a troubled look. Both could sense the emotions brewing. Neither of them felt it was a good omen for what they were stepping into. What was worse, Banal could not let his magic feed on the power they held. Or rather it would not eat. Something had changed him or was changing him. And he wasn’t sure if it was for the better. 

Cold air blasted him in the face as he exited his castle. He looked down into the courtyard where the crowd was growing. Fog still wrapped itself around people’s legs. It almost made the yelling louder, like it created a bubble for the sound to bounce around in. 

Banal watched for a moment, observing. On one side of the argument were the few Templars and Chantry folk they had here. Some of the mages as well. And common folk. The ones being encircled…were Wardens? He cocked an eyebrow. 

Yes they were Wardens. He was sure of it. He knew of no one else who wore that silver and blue armor. What were Wardens doing here? There was one who wasn’t a Warden, standing near a cart, Varric near her. 

He couldn’t hear what was being said over the sudden whining in his ears. His head started spinning. The shouting just began to make it worse. Pain flared throughout his body. The very air began to compress on him it seemed. The emotions **hurt** him. He needed them to stop. 

Without much thought from him, his barely there magic flared. Vhena’s head snapped to her father as she felt its prickle. He was agitated. Which in itself was strange. He normally loved watching people get riled up. But as she watched, the white in his hair burnt away a little more of the black. She blinked in confusion. 

Then he stepped off the steps. Her gasp hung in her throat. Black surrounded him, changing shapes. “Papae!” She scolded. Damn him and his inability to not use magic! 

People scurried away as a shadow descended on them. Their eyes grew wide, hearts stopping. A pure black griffon glided down into the courtyard, looking about ready to snap everyone’s head off. The crowd around the main groups arguing separated as the beast touched down. His wings were a massive spread. It was obvious that the griffon was old and powerful even before they realized it had their Inquisitor’s eyes. 

Banal gave a loud screech that stunned everyone within two hundred feet of him. His wings beat, creating gusts of winds that people had to shield their faces from the rocks and biting ice. His feathers began to flare, tail switching back and forth like an angry cat. 

As his screech died down, everyone grew silent. The Wardens stood stunned to see a mythical beast before them. And one so large too. Nehnlin’s form would seem to be a yearling compared to him. The beast glared murder at them and the Templars. 

When he was certain everyone got the message to shut up, Banal let his magic recede from his body. In a quick flash of black, he returned to his far colder form. He shivered as he crossed his arms. “What the bloody hell has everyone in a tizzy?” he hissed. No one spoke. He narrowed his eyes even more, “Someone had better damn well speak up or I will make the next few days a living hell for you all in training.” 

The soldiers all grimaced, knowing full well the elf could do just that. Zeyras was the one to step forward on behalf of the humans. Banal could be quick to anger and he did not want their new mortal allies to incur his wrath. “It would seem some of the humans are upset with the presence of one of the Wardens, my lord.” He bowed as he spoke. 

Banal eyed him for a moment. Then he turned his gaze to the Wardens. “And which one of you is disrupting my fortress?” 

“I suppose that’d be me.” One of them stepped forward. Honey blonde hair bound in a ponytail, brown eyes that had circles under them from not sleeping. And an odd feathered coat over the more traditional Warden mage armor. 

Banal rose a questioning eyebrow. “And you’d be who exactly?” 

The man blinked like he expected to be recognized on sight. He wasn’t sure if the elf’s lack of knowledge was a blessing or a curse. “Anders.” 

The elf tilted his head to the side like he was listening. He could…hear a spirit inside the man. Just a scratchy whispering noise. Not like Cole who was very clearly a spirit to his senses. This one was changed…morphed…adapted to its host. And its host seemed to carry a lot of darkness with him. It was almost painful to be near him. 

“Ah.” Was all Banal said as he nodded. That would explain why every Chantry loving fool in Tarasyl’an was up in arms. “And why are you here? Or perhaps why are any of you here?” He looked at the other Wardens. There was another human male with a bow on his back. He had shoulder length black hair. Two dwarves, one a bubbly looking woman and the other a red-haired warrior that smelt like a brewery, stood next to him. 

“Our Warden Commander asked us to wait for her near your fortress.” The black haired man stated. 

“But we ran into Merrill,” Anders motioned to the elven woman standing near the cart with Varric. They were talking to each other about something, so they didn’t seem to notice. “She was headed up here through all the snow by herself…” 

“And you decided to help an old friend.” Banal finished with a loud sigh. He woke up early for this? He scratched his forehead absently, wanting to claw his eyes out at this point. There wasn’t much he could do. The roads were still terrible apparently, so he couldn’t just send them back down the mountain. Besides he needed all the help he could get at the moment. And plus it wasn’t like he cared for the Chantry’s opinion. 

He sighed loudly, “Am I allowed to know the rest of your names?” 

The Wardens blinked. They were obviously expecting the Inquisitor to be just as angry with their presence as his forces. “Nathaniel Howe.” The black haired man bowed slightly; the way he did so told Banal he was once of Ferelden nobility (it was just something he’d come to learn in his dealings). 

“Sigrun,” The perky dwarf spoke up. Perhaps it was a female dwarf trait to be overly…bubbly or something. Perhaps they were just crazy. He’d certainly go crazy if he had to put up with dwarven men all day. 

“Oghren.” The warrior surprisingly spoke without any slurred speech. 

“ _Andran’atishan_. I welcome you to Tarasyl’an, Wardens.” Banal bowed as he would to any visiting dignitary. Vhena and the other elves also bowed, lower than their leader of course. It was strange to see such a thing. Like they shared one mind, one mind that said do as the Inquisitor. “Zeyras.” 

The boy jumped and immediately bowed deeper. “Yes, my lord?” 

“Get some of the other servants to help you prepare rooms for our guests, would you?” 

“ _Ma nuvenin_.” 

“Would someone also help Lady Merrill with her cart? Careful with the eluvian, mind you. I’d hate to see it broken after all her efforts to restore it.” Banal looked at the crowd with no emotion. “Breakfast will be in a few hours, be sure to try to rest and not be late. Beyond that, you are welcome to use my fortress as you see fit so long as you do not cause a commotion.” 

Anders bit back the comment about how he doubted he couldn’t cause a commotion. 

Banal then walked through the group towards the Dalish. The Wardens couldn’t place it, but he felt…off. Kind of like the Awakened Darkspawns. But also not. Familiar and yet foreign. Tabris did warn them. 

“You’re just going to let them have free run of the place?” One particularly brave soldier spoke up. Banal paused. He barely turned his head to address the man. 

“And why not? They’ve done me no harm.” He could already guess someone was going to blame the mage for starting the war. Or they were going to cry abomination. 

“He murdered the Revered Mother and started this war in the first place.” Banal could almost cry at how tired of this shit he was. 

“Not to mention he’s an abomination,” A Templar grumbled. 

Banal turned to face his forces. “Last time I checked, I was the Inquisitor, which meant this was my fucking castle. So I get to choose who I let in and who gets beheaded. You don’t like it, you will follow Elvhen protocol for desertion.” 

Even without his magic to aid in his intimidation, Banal’s eyes flashed dangerously. Varric saw black creep at the corners of his eyes before they receded again. Then the elf’s words caught up to his mind. “Wait, there’s a protocol for desertion?” Either longevity meant you got hammer out those sorts of details or the ancient elves were just anal about everything. 

“Any soldier who wishes to desert, for whatever reason, may do so if they win a duel against their commanding officer.” Banal spoke calmly and clearly. “If your will to leave is great enough you win. If you lose, you lose your head. An army has no need for people who lack conviction in the cause or trust in their commander’s decisions.” His eyes drifted back to the Templar and soldier. “In your case, you’d either duel Cullen or me. And you’d best pray to your Maker that you got Cullen.” 

The two backed up from the threat in his voice. 

“Beyond that,” Samahlnan spoke up quietly, “That man is a Grey Warden. From what Blackwall tells me, Wardens are out of the Templars’ and even the Chantry’s authority.” Many of the people grumbled. Like that didn’t sit well with them. 

“And from what I’ve gathered, Anders didn’t start the war.” Vhena said as she descended the last few steps. “The Rebellion in Kirkwall, sure. But had he not, the Knight Commander might have gotten worse and worse and no one would know.” They frowned at her, but couldn’t really start an argument with her. Not with her father threatening them with his eyes. 

Banal glared a few more seconds at the still gathered people. Then he turned on his heel back towards Merrill and Varric. Had his magic been even slightly more powered, the air might have heated up as he walked. 

“ _Ir abelas, da’len_ , but people are trying my patience.” Banal worked to keep his frustrations out of his voice as he spoke. 

Varric looked at the Templars who were all glaring at Blondie. Curly was starting to get everyone broke up before the Inquisitor could start taking heads. “You sure that little outburst was wise, Smiley?” 

The elf snorted loudly. “If these people are going to trust me to lead them into battle, then I expect them to trust me in other matters. Such as what I do with guests.” He let out a long breath, “Beyond that I’m tired, cold, and hate insubordination.” 

***** 

Cullen was able to keep the peace after that. Sorta. There were a lot of grumblings. Some talks of desertion. Some questions about the Inquisitor’s sanity. But Leliana’s people helped to quell those. After all, Banal was the Herald of Andraste, didn’t that mean he saw things, knew things from a prophet’s point of view? Perhaps Andraste or the Maker had pointed out the flaws to him. 

Or perhaps he was just getting tired of being told his magic was evil. Sometimes people forgot he was mage. He didn’t act like one. And that was the problem wasn’t it? They all had their set ideas of what a mage should act like. Those who did not fit that mold were watched with suspicion and even the tiniest action was deemed wrong. They weren’t to be trusted. 

Yet people were having to trust Banal. Sure they could say he was the exception, that one mage that was better than all the other apostates. But then what of his two children? Or the other elves? They drank with them, they ate with them, trained with them. They were good people, a bit crazy, but good people. 

He had allowed for there to be a few Templars to help watch over the mage rebels, but at a distance. They were there in case of forced possession. They weren’t to lord over the mages. 

Most people didn’t even stop and think that Banal was just tired of all this political and religious bull crap. Once upon a time, he was a High King. So politics weren’t new to him. But the scheming and manipulation became tiresome when you could see through all the smoke and mirrors. 

But with any luck, they’d only have to tolerate their new guests for a short while. If there was any sort of god that is. 

***** 

After breakfast, people started to quiet down more. The Ferelden Grey Wardens kept to themselves, on the battlements mostly. Out of sight, out of mind. 

Merrill quickly settled herself in the gardens’ rooms. She was eager as a mabari puppy it seemed. Banal hadn’t taken two steps into the garden before she was smiling and asking questions and apologizing for asking so many questions and apologizing too much. He had to laugh at her. 

He insisted she take a day or so to settle in, before they tried to fix her eluvian. The young Dalish didn’t think that was necessary until she felt how weak the Inquisitor’s magic was. It was only marginally better than a Tranquil’s and slightly worse than a mundane. Her blood magic helped her feel that. 

So instead she and Vhena chatted, since Banal was not one for conversation. In the weeks to come, those two would become fast friends…Banal tried not to sigh loudly at the prospect. Both of them talked far too much for his liking. Imagining his castle filled with their ceaseless chatter…he might’ve cried. 

Leaving the two young women to their inane conversations, Banal walked back into the Grand Hall. Leliana had a preliminary report Sulahn’mi had sent that she wished to go over. He imagined it was so they could start thinking of strategies to overcome whatever the Grey Wardens had planned. With minimal risk to the Inquisitor of course. 

He could almost roll his eyes at the thought. He didn’t need to be coddled. It wasn’t like he couldn’t fight without his magic. Sure spells were like breathing to him, and sure most of his defense was spells. But he knew how to fight mundanely. He wasn’t helpless. 

Lost in his thoughts, Banal failed to notice himself mounting the stairs to the library like he normally did. Not Vivienne’s stairs. The actual stairs to the library. It wasn’t until he had cleared them and his eyes fell on a particular man, did he realize his grave mistake. 

He had avoided Dorian quite well in the past week. Going through the other stairwell, taking meals in his quarters and so on. Just to avoid the Tevinter. Why? 

Because every time he even thought about him, it hurt. It hurt his head. It hurt his stomach. It hurt his heart. It just plain hurt. And the more it hurt, the harder it was for Banal to stay away. 

Dorian was better off…Dorian probably hated him…Banal came up with any and every excuse he could to remind himself why he had to stay away. The first and foremost was the fear that was in his eyes as he held his burnt hand. Banal had seen fear in many people’s eyes, relished in it even. But somehow he didn’t like it this time. 

Yet unconsciously he came back. Now he was frozen at the top of the stairs. Had Dorian noticed him? Could he perhaps slip around? Or dart back downstairs before the human took note? 

Sadly as he contemplated his chances of sneaking away, the human in question noticed someone hovering and turned to look. 

Dorian just thought it was one of the servant girls who were overly skittish around him. Probably thought he’d sell her on the slave market or something. But when he turned took, rather than a wide-eyed girl, there was a wide-eyed elf. He looked like a spooked halla really. It was the strangest expression he’d ever wore. And sort of adorable, Dorian noted. 

For a moment, it was like they were trapped in one of those time warps, time slowing down to a crawl. Neither of them really breathed. 

‘Maker’s breath,’ Dorian thought, ‘just say something you bloody twit!’ He’d really take any bone the elf was willing to give him at this point. It was strange how logically he knew things were ended between them, but he still couldn’t help but think otherwise. 

He found himself missing their talks, how halfway through their lessons, they’d go on walks around the battlements. The elf would cloak them both in a fire ward. They’d talk about nothing in particular, things about the Tevinter or the Dalish or Elves. They’d discuss arcane theories. And sometimes, well very rarely, it was like Banal got curious and would brush their hands together or loosely hold his hand…well he’d hold maybe three fingers, but still. 

Dorian knew better than to physically or verbally acknowledge it. The elf would stop, permanently no doubt, if he did. Like moving too quickly when trying to get a bird to land on your fingers. But he missed it all the same. 

He’d also be lying if he said he didn’t miss the far more primal part of their relationship. Sometimes to the point where he couldn’t focus passed all the questions and imaginings. On more than one night, he wondered what the elf’s moans sounded like or how nice it’d be to shove him against the wall and— 

Before Dorian could make himself hard, he snapped back to reality. The elf’s eyes were conflicted. Like he wanted to stay but also wanted to run. Dorian wanted to shake the elf so hard his brains got rattled. Just talk to him! That’s all he wanted, even if it hurt to remember before, it hurt more that now the Inquisitor avoided him altogether. 

Banal’s eyes drifted down to Dorian’s hand. It was…healed? Not a single scar or mark to show what had happened. But his head made sure to make up for that. Flashes of bloody and blistering flesh sprouted behind his eyes. 

Dorian seemed to notice where he was staring for he looked too. He turned it this way and that, as though show that it was all right. An’nas really was quite the healer. He was still abrasive and lacked tact, but he was a good healer. Dorian’s eyes then looked back up at Banal. 

Curse the human, Banal growled to himself. Rather than hate and fear in his eyes, things Banal would much rather see, he saw…Banal couldn’t or perhaps wouldn’t name the emotions. The white seemed to flare at the sight, the feeling his magic was picking up. Picking up was the wrong phrase actually. 

The Altus was basically blaring it to Banal. That strange pressure against his head, the slight whine behind his ears. He could pinpoint Dorian’s location wherever he was in Skyhold, if he closed his eyes and concentrated. Like a little white star, flaring in the dark… 

What was wrong? Why? Why could Banal suddenly sense all the pain and wrongness in the Tevinter? He was usually so well guarded. And why did Banal feel compelled to help? The pressure in his head moved to his heart. Its beat began to speed. That compulsion grew. Banal opened his mouth, a puppet on a string. He could ask, say something…It was Dorian’s turn to stare wide-eyed. 

A crow cawed loudly above. And like that everything shattered. The elf’s head jerked up as a few birds took off. Banal clenched his jaw shut and briskly walked towards Leliana’s stairs, compulsion severed. 

Andraste’s burnt dimpled ass Dorian hated those birds! He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding…very, very loudly. And it definitely was not a sigh and certainly not a depressed, whining sigh either. 

“Well that was interesting.” Came out of the air. The Altus jumped and spun in time to see the shadows bend and flit away from a corner. Vhena and An’nas both were watching where their father disappeared to. An’nas was the one who had spoken. “Never seen Father run like that. From anyone.” 

Both twins turned to look at Dorian, who was busy trying not to have a stroke. An’nas smirked. But Vhena…she was glaring a glare only a necromancer could achieve. One identical to her father’s “drop-a-dragon-glares”. 

“What did you do?” She hissed. Dorian blinked, far too shocked by how sweet little Vhena could have that much venom. Then he caught up with the conversation. 

“Why am I always to blame?” He growled right back. “Your father is perfectly capable of screwing up too.” 

An’nas laughed. “Force of habit.” He shrugged. “And the human did nothing, Vhen, except make Papae feel maybe. We all know how that works out.” 

Vhena frowned at her twin. Papae had seemed so…frightened when he looked at the human. He had never done that with Falon’Din. So why was the human different? “Why did he look at his hand then?” She asked absently. Her eyes drifted back to the stairs where she could faintly hear her father’s and Leliana’s accents drifting down. 

“Papae burned him in one of his ‘episodes’ as the rest of the Inquisition are calling them.” The apprentice air quoted the word with a roll of his eyes. 

Vhena’s eyebrows furrowed. She supposed she did sense guilt in her father…but then…why did the white grow? Had any of the mortals watched, they’d seen the white streak flare as it burned away a good inch of the black. They would’ve seen the black smoke away. 

“If the shemlen did nothing, why did Papae…” Vhena trailed off. Suddenly an idea flitted through her head. Papae often avoided things that hurt. Feelings in particular. He also avoided people he had hurt but didn’t want to hurt. Like An’nas after he first came home. He felt guilty or pained or something and so he ran from the problem. Because if it wasn’t war, he didn’t like to confront it. 

An’nas seemed to draw this conclusion before his twin. “You know, he’s not going to come back to you.” He stated matter-of-factly. Dorian reeled like he had been struck. Well thank you for squashing that vain hope. 

“‘Nas!” Vhena smacked her brother’s arm. He hissed and rubbed the spot with a glare on his face. “You’re supposed to crush people’s hopes gently. Not stab it a million times.” She hissed. She blew breath out of her nostrils, the air turning to a white cloud as her magic flared. An’nas didn’t seem bothered by the sudden chill. After all, Vhena couldn’t hurt him with her magic any more than he could her with his. 

“ _Ir abelas_ ” He rolled his eyes. “That makes no sense, Vhen.” 

“What my _dahn’direlan_ of a brother means, is Papae…doesn’t like to confront feelings…he runs from them…he thinks it’s simpler, less painful. So you’ll have to be the one doing the chasing.” Vhena spoke slowly, picking her words carefully. 

Dorian nearly scoffed. Not only was he being told he had to chase the Inquisitor, but he was being told to chase the Inquisitor by the Inquisitor’s children. Who, now that the human stopped to notice, looked to be more around his age than the Inquisitor. But if they were ancient…they’d be what? Around three thousand years old? 

“Don’t give us that look, Dorian.” An’nas snorted. “If you love our father, you’re going to have work for him.” 

Vhena got a wicked smirk, implying a different meaning to her words, “In more ways than one.” But Dorian was too busy trying to keep his heart beating at the word ‘love’. His mind balked at the idea. It wasn’t that it was so far-fetched it couldn’t be real, but that it seemed too real a possibility that it was frightening. The twins tilted their heads to the side. 

A faint magic surrounded them, humming and pulsing in sync. Magic flowed freely between the two, lightning turned to ice, ice turned to lightning in an endless cycle. Dorian’s nose twitched as that magic seemed to soak into him. That just added to his panic. His heart leapt into his mouth as he threw barriers up. 

But the twins, this close together, had no problem sliding through. Like a ghost or perhaps Cole, they effortlessly looked into the Altus’s heart, feeling all sorts of emotions. They were bright and bold, flamboyant and fiery. They weren’t hidden so much as guarded. He was frightened of them slipping so easily through his barriers. Frightened of admitting he had dug himself too deep with Banal. Angry that Banal was being so stupid and stubborn. Saddened that he didn’t talk to him. Regretful, he should’ve gone after the elf. Angry, Banal said Dorian was the one who could end things, not the other way around. 

All of this centered around one emotion: love. 

It was bright and clear, though mired, as though not to show, by fear. It swirled things into a hurricane, twisting and tangling other emotions into a storm. But the twins could sense it easily. Their magics almost brightened at the feel, a sponge growing fat and soft from water. Slowly they pulled out, eyes blinking, faces smiling. 

Dorian, however, was frowning. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out of my head.” 

“We weren’t in your head.” An’nas replied coolly. 

“Well, wherever you were, stay out.” The Tevinter glared, shaken by how easy it was for them to bypass every barrier he knew. Blood mages couldn’t get through them without a sacrifice or two. Yet two “apprentices” easily tore through his defenses. 

“Only if you promise to at least think about doing the chasing.” Vhena giggled. “I promise it’ll be worth it.” 

***** 

“Papae!” Sounded through the Great Hall. Banal winced, his body going rigid as though he thought Vhena wouldn’t see him if he didn’t move. Absurd of course, but a man could hope. Varric chuckled as he rearranged a few cards in his hand. He was trying to teach Smiley how to play Wicked Grace since they were still waiting for the Warden and Hawke to send a report. 

Banal was just happy to have an excuse to sit near the fireplace. Everyone told him he was running a fever, but he had yet to feel the heat. All he was was cold. Just freaking cold. And hurt. 

Vhena, dressed in her black wolf fur lined coat and Snofleur leggings bounded down Vivienne’s stairs into the Great Hall. The ring velvet shimmered in the light coming from the large windows, the Everite belt flashed. She wore a smile a mile wide as she looked around for her father. Almost immediately she found him and skipped happily over to him. Her father nearly whined. 

While she always had things to do in Skyhold, she spent most of her time worrying over him. Fussing about and scolding him when he wouldn’t heed any advice from Lotus, Nenara, or An’nas. He was fine he insisted. Yet his eyes were ringed with red, his skin had a sickly pallor, and he was constantly shivering. Luckily for her, she inherited his knack for being stubborn. 

“What is it, Vhena?” Banal sighed, expecting her to tell him to go rest or eat or something foolish like that. He looked up at her with an exasperated look. She closed her eyes and smiled happily. 

“The mounts are here.” She laughed. Banal’s eyebrows furrowed. The mounts? Didn’t they already have mounts? Or did they escape during the blizzard? He looked over at the dwarf who merely shrugged. He didn’t know they were getting more mounts either. Vhena looked between the two, finding only confusion. 

“What mounts?” 

“Oh, well,” She scratched the tip of her nose with a delicately pointed nail. She couldn’t play with her hair like she usually did; it was bound in a bun with only two short strands framing her face. Two quillback quills served as hairpins and showed off her single phoenix tail feather earring. “The Iron Bull was asking some of his contacts for weapons, armor, and mounts when you all went to Crestwood. And then that Sky Watcher guy was asking for aid from the other…Av-whatever people.” 

Banal blinked again. Would it be too much to ask for him to know what was going on in his own forsaken fortress? “And I take it, the mounts arrived?” 

She nodded happily, “I saw them from Lady Vivienne’s balcony, some of Dennett’s people were heading out of the gate along with Nenar and Zey.” She grabbed ahold of his forearm and gave it a tug. Banal might have been weak, but he hardly budged. “Come on, Papae, let’s go see them.” 

He frowned at his daughter before shooting a glare at the dwarf who was trying hard not to laugh. “I have a perfectly fine mount already.” 

“It’s a dead horse. With a sword in its head.” Vhena huffed, pouting. Banal looked at her, waiting for the point. That only deepened her frown. “Don’t you want, oh I don’t know, a living mount?” 

“Why? So the enemy can shoot an arrow through its eye and cause it to fall and trap me underneath?” Vhena and Varric both stared at the Inquisitor in disbelief. He had obviously given some serious thought into arguing for his beloved Din’an. 

Unfortunately, Vhena had given serious thought against it. She dropped her pout, adopting a sterner, more guarded look. Banal narrowed his eyes, knowing that face quite well. Dammit, she was his daughter. 

“But, Papae, if the Wardens are indeed binding spirits, could they not do that to your mount as well? Granted it does have a layer of protection from the bindings already placed upon it, but could their blood magic not disrupt them at the very least?” She blinked a few times as though asking an innocent question. Banal frowned, hating it when his children used logic and tactics against him. Why did children have to learn things by watching their parent? 

Varric’s eyebrows raised at how serious and...magey that speech sounded. Obviously she knew her father well enough to know how to get him to see her side of things. Even the dwarf had to admit she had a talent with words, he thought as Banal blew a breath out his nose. 

She, of course, did have a point. It wouldn’t be wise to ride a spirit-bound horse into a battle with people who were binding spirits. The Veil would be paper thin most likely and that could cause distress to the spirit for one. And the enemy could very well break the bindings, for another. At the very least disrupting the bindings would send the spirit back to the Fade and render the body useless. At most, they could take control of the spirit and it could attack. 

“I hate it when you do that.” He grumbled. Vhena giggled, grabbing her father’s arm again and pulling. Banal sighed. “We’ll have to pick this up another time, Varric.” 

Varric laughed, setting down his cards. He turned the Inquisitor’s cards up. “It’s okay, you would’ve lost anyway, Smiley.” 

***** 

They walked the short ways down to the hidden fields where Dennett kept the mounts. People kept stopping and staring, which was to be expected. For most of them it was strange to think that the Inquisitor had children, let alone Vhena and An’nas. And there’s the fact that Vhena linked their arms like Banal was escorting her to introduce her to some lordling. 

Banal was used to it. At least she wasn’t holding on to his braid like she did when she was small. Besides that, he knew for a fact it was just so she could easily pump magic into him for something. 

“ _Knock it off, da’vhenan_ ” He grumbled under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. 

“ _Why, Papae, whatever do you mean?_ ” She whispered back, feigning innocence. Which wasn’t hard for her. All she wanted was her father to get better. And compared to him at the moment, she had plenty of magic to spare. Moreover, she was just checking on him. 

Banal snorted, looking at her from the corner of his eye. “ _You know damn well what I mean. I am fine._ ” Her eyes flickered down, eyelashes brushing her cheeks as she bit her lip. 

‘No, you aren’t,’ was what she wanted to say. His body was slowly fading to that point of no return, the point where the soul and body would be severed. He was breaking, yet he managed to keep his head high, path straight. She doubted many realized the gravity of the situation. The Inquisitor was just sick, most likely from his fondness of running around barefoot or something like that. 

She wished it was only illness. 

Thankfully, the neighing of the horses and bugling of the Harts cut off any more chances of conversation. The white fields were speckled with different colored mounts. Vhena’s eyes went wide seeing the herd. There were these dragon looking things she had never seen before. They were kept in a separate field, probably do to their fangs and claws. 

“What are those?!” She gasped as they reached the fences. Nenara and Zeyras were both at the fence already. The former pirate had to stand on the bottom railing so she could see over the top. Zeyras just stood with his head resting on his arms. Vhena quickly detached herself from Banal and hopped up on the fence. Excitement radiated from her, humming a light tune to his magic. The Inquisitor sighed to himself, though he was trying not to smile. 

“No idea, Vhen.” Nenara smirked at her before continuing to watch the strange beasts. 

“Papae?” 

He walked up to the fence, spying what had them all enraptured. “Those would be dracolisks. I believe the Tevinters bred them; they seem to like dragons.” He shrugged. 

Vhena’s eyes widened in wonder as she whispered a “wow,” under her breath. Nenara and Zeyras chuckled to themselves. “Well we found ‘er mount.” Nenara laughed. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Zeyras agreed with a nod that was somehow a bow. 

Vhena’s neck might have gotten whiplash from how fast she snapped her head to look at them. “What?” She got to have a mount? Excitement sent small tremors through her as she tried to contain it. Suddenly the air felt warmer, the light was a bit brighter, and the wind caught the scent of hay and grain. 

“Well you’re going to need a mount to get anywhere in this day and age.” Zeyras shrugged. “One of those Dracolisks might do well with you as its rider, Lady Vhena.” His eyes were their normal white with gold flecks when he glanced up at her smile before they flicked away again. 

“Aye, t’e beasts are a might skittish. Someone wit’ a calm aura would do best on t’eir backs.” Nenara gave a hefty nod as though it was decided. “Just which one?” She leaned forward on the fence, squinting at the beasts. Her time in the First Calvary had taught her quite a bit about beasts of burden. How they carried themselves, how they interacted with others, everything was a sign she could see and use to best pick rider and mount. 

Zeyras just loved animals since he was a child. Animals were far more accepting and friendly to him than people. He understood them better too. “Perhaps the Abyssal?” 

The pirate shook her head, “Considering Vhena ‘as never ridden a mount, I’d say steer clear of t’e…overly spirited.” Vhena huffed as though to remind the two she was still there. Banal had to stifle a laugh at her insulted look. She had not changed any expression since she was young. 

“Then the Blue River Dane? Master Dennett said it was well trained.” He pointed to a red scaled dracolisk that was sunbathing near their fence. 

They both thought about it before nodding, “Seems like t’e best one for ‘er.” 

“Well thank you for including me in the decision.” Vhena pouted. Nenara could only laugh and pet her head like a child. 

“ _Ir abelas,_ ” Zeyras bowed a little which only made Vhena sigh. She knew he was a well trained slave, but this was extremely ridiculous. He acted like she was some highborn princess and not just Vhena, daughter of the Forgotten One—oh wait a minute. That was probably it. 

“I’m teasing, Zey, keep up.” She giggled as a look of surprise crossed over his face. It was rather cute, his startled fennec look. Banal’s eyes darted between the two. Call it father intuition, but something was up between those two. And considering Zeyras had poisoned her (albeit not of his own will technically), Banal wasn’t inclined to like the pairing. “So what about the others? Have you picked out mounts for them?” 

Nenara hummed affirmatively. “See t’at purplish pink ‘art?” She pointed to the beast in question, “Tahon’s. Feisty little devil, just tamed enough to ride.” Sounded like the duelist. “N’lin already laid claim to t’e black and white dragon t’ing w’en it came in.” She pointed, “Said it reminded ‘im of ‘is Duskfluff.” She rolled her eyes. That boy and his griffon. 

“Master Soralan, I believe has taken a fancy to the Brecilian.” Zeyras continued, pointing the brown Hart out where it was scratching its ear with its back leg. “Lady Sulahn’mi would be a good match for the Hunter Shade and Arvaan has chosen the black with tan markings Hart there.” 

“And da’ras and da’nas?” Banal asked out of curiosity. The two had spent as much time as they could here with the mounts, and even the new ones they’d know better than any of the others what would work for whom. 

“Hmmm, Sama would probably like t’at t’ing.” She pointed to a dracolisk with green and red scales. 

“That’s the Sharp-Tail,” Harding’s voice turned their attention behind them. The dwarven woman smiled as the elves blinked at her in surprise. “What? I’m not allowed to know about the mounts?” 

Vhena smiled sweetly. “Scout Harding, when did you get back?” 

“Just a little while ago, your griffon friend told me to give you a message, Inquisitor.” She didn’t seem happy about that either. 

“I take it this is not a good message?” Banal chuckled from her frown. 

“No, he just dropped out of the sky in the middle of camp.” She shook her head at the memory of almost shooting a dozen arrows into the griffon out of fright. She hated heights and Nehnlin was bound and determined to make her hate birds too. 

The elves laughed. “Sounds like N’lin.” Banal snorted. “What’s the message?” 

She snapped to attention, “He said they just confirmed the Grey Wardens are indeed in the Approach. The Warden and Hawke were going to scout ahead while he and Sulahn’mi tend to the Commander’s request of emptying out the fortress there.” 

Banal nodded slowly. “I hope he plans on giving me a full report when he decides to stop playing in the sand.” 

Harding chuckled, “He said that Sula would give you your report. Honestly I don’t think he’s one for details.” 

“No not really.” Nenara laughed at her bond-nephew. “ ‘eadstrong and wild like a wolf.” 

“So Inquisitor, what are you doing out here?” Harding asked after a moment of quiet. “You don’t seem to be the horse type.” 

Banal snorted, turning back to the fields. “My daughter seems to think I require a new mount.” 

Vhena did a nearly identical snort, “It has maggots in its skull!” Her father only shrugged. 

“They give her character.” His daughter sighed loudly. How he could become so attached to a dead thing she would never understand. She hoped it wasn’t a side effect of being a necromancer. She could appreciate the trouble and beauty of the bindings on the beast, but it was still just a dead body walking around. Intimidation technique, of course. But a few good dispels would render it a pile of bones and dead flesh. 

“So you lookin’ for a nice mount for ‘im?” Nenara’s tone was that of a vendor trying to sell something. “I t’ink I got one t’at might work.” 

The Inquisitor rolled his eyes. “Good luck with that, Nenar.” He challenged. After all, animals tended to shy away from him. And he kind of needed a mount that would tolerate him being near let alone riding it. 

Vhena waved it away, “Your magic should be weak enough right now that they could see passed it.” She had already discussed her plans with Nenara and Zeyras a few days ago. They had surmised that Banal’s magic was too dark and dense for the animals to see passed it to who he was…Not to mention who he was (according to Varric) in the beginning was an entirely different person than who he was now. He was dark and closer to a demon then. Now it was a fifty-fifty chance. 

Banal frowned at her. But before he could argue with her, Zeyras pointed to a white Hart with red markings. “The Royal Sixteen.” 

“Prideful, makes a statement, king of kings kind of ‘art.” Nenara’s pirate was bleeding out as she made her pitch. Banal frowned at the group, the Hart included. It was white. He didn’t like white. Moreover, he doubted the thing would like him. 

“All of this is moot if that thing doesn’t even let me near it.” 

“Your spirit said Raj is curious about you…along with some riddle about waiting for the white?” Zeyras scratched behind his ear in confusion. 

Of course, they got Cole to meddle in this. Why did he expect his daughter not to conspire against him at every turn? Then he furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, Raj? Who the hell named him Raj?” 

“Cole.” Vhena chirped. She and the spirit had sparked a friendship rather quickly. Which was good because she helped bring light back into the dark like he did. “He asked what the elven word was for a king or ruler, so I told him _ha’raj_ and he named him Raj, said the Hart said his name was King in hart language.” She giggled. Did Harts have their own dialect? 

Both Nenara and Vhena grabbed a hold of Banal’s arm and tugged him towards the gate. “And no way of knowing if ‘e likes you, if you don’t go introduce yourself.” Nenara was practically dragging him along like some child. He groaned. He hated animals. They smelt, they slobbered, and they usually wanted to kill him. 

But he didn’t really have much of a choice in this matter, so he went into the field. 

“Zey, why don’t you go escort ‘is lords’ip to us?” The Hart didn’t like to be led and he wouldn’t follow someone who was less dominant than he was. Zeyras was submissive, so he wasn’t really leading, so much as escorting. Harts were weird that way. 

The young man nodded and went to go get the Hart who was watching them. “This is pointless.” Banal grumbled. It was just doomed to fail, no matter how white his hair became. He couldn’t remember a time when an animal didn’t hate or fear him. 

“Oh, just humor us.” Vhena laughed. He glared at her as he crossed his arms and watched as the white Hart trotted towards them with Zeyras by his side. The beast stopped several feet away from them. He lowered his head, pawing at the ground, his eyes never leaving Banal’s. The others backed away while the Inquisitor just stood there. 

Even when the beast began to charge, he did not move. Time seemed to crawl by as they watched the Hart come closer. Vhena’s eyes grew wide. Dust flew in the air as the Hart skidded to a stop a foot from the elf. Banal lifted his chin slightly, looking down his nose at the Hart who did the same. It was rather fascinating. Both had a prideful air, challenging the other with their eyes. A full minute crawled by with them just staring at the other, daring them to move first. 

Then Banal bowed his head slightly as he would a visiting dignitary. An acknowledgement of power and influence. The Hart snorted before nodding his head. Banal frowned at him. Arrogant beast wasn’t he? 

Raj stepped closer, sniffing at Banal’s hair. He probably smelt the soaps he used. The hot, moist air blew across his face. The Inquisitor cringed as the beast sniffed at the white streak. The smell of grass and grain mixed with the smell of beast. He remembered enough about Hart and Halla imprinting that he knew better than to step back. The beast was trying to get his scent or something. But for the life of Banal, he couldn’t remember what came after that. 

Then the Hart licked him. 

For a moment, Banal wasn’t sure what the hell just happened. Only that suddenly his forehead and part of his hair was wet. Then Vhena and Nenara started laughing loudly. A growl built in his throat before he swallowed it, not wanting to end up gored. He took a step back, wiping harshly at the spit on him. 

And the Hart had the audacity to try to do it again. Banal pushed his muzzle away, “Beast.” He hissed flatly. “Go, you’ve had your fun.” He blocked another attempt at Raj eating his hair. 

Between uncontrollable laughter, Nenara managed an “Awe, ‘e must t’ink you a calf who rolled in mud and needs cleaning.” 

“And this is why I prefer my mounts dead.” 

Vhena couldn’t breathe long enough to get an answer out as her father made a hasty retreat towards the fences. Raj followed along, trying to lip his braid. Zeyras chuckled to himself. “Seems Raj has claimed our lord for his own.” Vhena held her sides as her laughter died down. She looked up at the sight of her father trying to nudge the Hart away. But the Hart was dead set on getting the black out. 

And she could only smile. 

***** 

Banal gathered the advisors in the War Room as soon as he heard a griffon’s cry. Sulahn’mi had dropped off a preliminary report before she and Nehnlin headed to their rooms to clean up. 

Cullen and Banal discussed the many problems with their newly acquired Keep in great length while waiting for the two elves. Mostly it was the problem with the water source. Out in a desert, clean water was crucial and if they were going to march on Adamant, they needed a friendly area to possibly stop and replenish supplies. And if they went from Val Firmin to Adamant, then soldiers from the Keep could meet them there. All of that required a good reliable water source. 

The small door into the War Room opened. Sula’s unmistakable mess of orange curls peeked in. “We are ready to give our report, my lord.” Banal nodded, turning around to them. The Champion had changed into her formal, more ceremonial armor. The Rogue had opted for completely casual with a loose, nearly unbuttoned tunic and a pair of leggings. Banal rolled his eyes at him. 

“What? Not like I’m part of the army.” Nehnlin chuckled. 

“No but you might give my ambassador a heart attack.” Banal countered. Josephine made some attempt at rebuttal but Banal raised a hand with a sigh. “Go on, what’s the damage this time?” 

Sulahn’mi straightened, adopting a soldier’s stance. “My lord, as requested we met with Hawke and the Warden Commander outside of a ritual tower after we established a few Inquisition camps.” She took a deep breath as her eyes forcibly blinked many times. “There we came into contact with a few Grey Warden mages performing a blood ritual under the supervision of a Tevinter mage who identified himself as Livius Erimond of Vyrantium.” 

“Pompous little mortal shit.” Nehnlin cut in. “I’m beginning to think arrogance is bred into shems.” Sulahn’mi turned her head to glare at him. The rouge glanced once but then did a double-take from how murderous the glare was. “A-anyway, he said that this was just a test and the real thing would be going down at Adamant.” He stuttered out quickly. 

Banal nodded as he contemplated that. “Did he reveal what this plan is supposed to accomplish?” 

The duo shared a look before they turned back to the group. “The Wardens believe he is trying to help them defeat the Blight once and for all…by raising a demon army to march into the Deep Roads and kill the Old Gods before they wake.” Sulahn’mi answered. She did not know what the Old Gods were exactly, but apparently they were foe. 

“Sadly for the Wardens, the Calling they hear is Corypheus’s doing and the binding ritual really just binds them to Corypheus.” Nehnlin continued with a shrugged. He couldn’t understand what was running through those idiots’ minds. Even Sama knew better than to bind spirits or demons for power. 

“So that’s where the demon army comes from,” Leliana noted. “Well at least it won’t hit us as a surprise. Anything else?” 

Sulahn’mi nodded once, “The Warden and Hawke left to scout out the Fortress before we went to the Keep. We spotted them coming up the pass; they should be here by tomorrow.” 

“Good, then in the meantime, we need the layout of the fortress, blueprints, something.” Banal turned to his advisors. “We also need a plan on how the hell we are going to take down an entire fortress of Grey Wardens.” 

The advisors nodded. “Right away, Inquisitor.” 

***** 

A few days later, everything was in place. Leliana’s agents dug up a few blueprints of Adamant’s construction and she and Cullen had studied it extensively. It was an old structure, which meant two things: it was well built and built before modern day warfare. Which made it simultaneously easier and harder to take it. 

There were a few chokepoints they could use to limit the battles. And Josephine had already contacted an ally in Jader for some trebuchets. Only bad news was the Wardens had fucking demons. Normal tactics were all well and good for normal opponents. Demons never played by the book. 

The plan would get a lot of soldiers killed, but in war each death was merely a statistic, at least to the top ranks. Oh sure they would regret seeing the numbers, but that’s all they really would be. 

Such was the brutality of war. 

***** 

Banal gathered his Inner Circle and his Elvhen in the War Room after he and the advisors had gone through every little detail of the assault. He was leaning against the table, studying the map and all the pieces laid out on it. 

There was a lot of ground to cover. A sudden cold snap froze the river around Emprise du Lion and people were going missing as well. Cullen had gotten wind of red lyrium smuggling in the Emerald Graves. Scouts reported Venatori slaves being brought to the Hissing Wastes to dig for something. And Orsammar, who Josephine had created an alliance with, had sent word of large earthquakes disrupting one of their lyrium mines with darkspawn. 

And all of these things required the Inquisition. Specifically the Inquisitor. 

He ran a hand through his hair with a tired sigh. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. The room was too drafty and he shivered continuously. His muscles all ached for sleep. His ears were too sensitive, sometimes hearing things that weren’t there, like tiny songs. All in all, he felt like hell. 

“So, we got a plan, Boss?” Bull asked, eager for a fight. They had all been cooped up in Skyhold for too long, and needed to stretch their muscles lest they got fat and lazy. 

Banal looked up and gave a single nod. He shoved off the table. “We march on Adamant, that much you know, or I hope so at least.” He paused. “The basic plan is we wait until nightfall before we start firing upon them with trebuchets and knocking down their door.” He shrugged. 

“And the more in depth plan?” Blackwall prompted. 

Banal scratched the back of his head. “The advanced plan is try to minimize losses. I go in with a small group and find Erimond and Clarel and put a stop the ritual one way or another.” 

“And the Wardens who have not done the ritual?” Cassandra asked. 

“Warden Commander Tabris told me they will not surrender, so I will not ask it.” He saw Blackwall’s jaw twitch before he continued. “However, I will ask them not to get in our way and we’ll leave those who heed the request be. I’m not going there to slaughter an entire Order, just beat some sense into the idiotic ones.” 

The companions nodded, more at ease now. “So have you thought about who’s going with you?” Bull asked, looking around at their group. There were a lot of good fighters, but against demons all bets were off. Even he was a little apprehensive about facing that many demons and blood mages in one area. Possession would be rampant, so was it safe for their mages to go? 

Banal stood a little straighter. “I have put a great deal of thought into that particular battle plan, Bull.” He was almost insulted that the Ben-Hassrath doubted it. He looked at each person gathered there in turn. “Cassandra, you and Sulahn’mi will be helping to thin out the demons and mages. Most of them should be inside the fortress. 

“Bull, Sera, and Tahon you’ll be on the ramparts, hitting things. Try to get a foothold on them so more of our soldiers can get inside.” Tahon and Bull grinned at each other. “Nehnlin—“ 

“Yeah?” The rogue said eagerly, just knowing what his job would be. 

“Inspire the fear of griffons in them.” Banal rolled his eyes when the rogue laughed merrily, clapping. 

“Can do.” 

“Blackwall, I’m going to need you to try and get as many of the warriors to stop fighting us as you can. Arvaan will assist you.” The mercenary bowed to the Warden. “Enchanter, I hope you learned a few healing spells in your Circle.” 

Vivienne put a hand on her hip, “Of course, darling.” 

Banal frowned at her patronizing tone. “Good, you’ll help Lotus and Nenara try to minimize the casualties. Nehnlin, Tahon if either of you two can help bring injured back to the healers, the more soldiers might survive this.” 

“What about me?” Cole asked, noting he had yet to be mentioned. The spirit didn’t like the idea of going to Adamant again, but if it helped… 

“You’ll be staying here, Cole. I will not risk you being bound by some Warden.” He let out a breath. He felt a familiar tickle of stealth magic on his neck. His children had a long way to go before they could hide from him. “Sama you’ll also be staying here as we are not certain if Corypheus could get at your mind as well.” 

She bowed graciously. “Of course, my lord.” When she straightened, “Am I to assume Rithara, Soralan and I will be charged with guarding our Heart and Soul?” 

“Yes, try to keep the mischief and mayhem to a minimum please. I want a fortress to return to.” 

“What?” came from behind him. He smirked as the twins uncloaked themselves. He called it. His children were frowning at him. 

“What what?” He chorused. 

They only narrowed their eyes. “You know what. We’re staying here?” Vhena whined. 

“We could help in the healing tents.” An’nas was only slightly more calm than his sister. Banal sighed loudly. He looked at his Inner Circle with a look of pure exasperation. 

“Never have children.” He said before turning to his spawns. “No, you are staying here. I’m laying siege to a fortress, arrows and flaming rocks are going to be flying everywhere, so I do not need to be worrying about you two.” They opened their mouths to argue, but Banal’s hand cut through the air. “ _No, final word!_ ” His voice echoed around the room. His children took a step back as his pupils flickered into slits for a fraction of a second. 

An’nas furrowed his eyebrows. There was a sudden flare of magic that itched the black mark on his left palm. But then Banal took a breath and it was gone. 

“Just…just stay here, please. I don’t need anymore headaches from this.” Banal pinched the bridge of his nose. Vhena crossed her arms with a scowl. 

“Who’s going with you? You’ve already assigned all your warriors.” Leave it to her father to think he could go into battle without a single warrior to draw the enemy’s fire. 

“I know better than to tell Varric what to do when it comes to Hawke and Dorian and Solas have experience with spirits and bindings. The Warden Commander and Zevran will be watching our flank. We will meet up with Hawke and Fenris on the ramparts before we head down and find Clarel.” He spoke with his back to the Inner Circle so he missed the surprised look on people’s faces. 

Banal was…willingly bringing Solas? With him? The two hardly ever spoke and mostly they avoided each other like the plague save the rare few times they had to communicate. 

Dorian was just surprised to be elected to be in their merry suicide band. Even if it was a purely strategical choice, at least the elf was acknowledging his presence. And still calling him by his name. That had to mean something at least. 

An’nas and Vhena, however, frowned. “No warriors?” Banal sighed and shook his head. Vhena could’ve smacked him. “You’re a mage!” She shouted like he didn’t know that. “And one who isn’t entirely healthy at that!” 

“Vhena, I’m fine.” Banal sighed for the hundredth time. “Furthermore, throwing a fit is not going to change my mind.” She glared and opened her mouth. “The Warden and her husband will keep the enemy on their toes and draw most of the attention to them. Between Solas and Dorian, we will have plenty of barriers and Varric can set up traps to keep them at bay.” He grabbed hold of her shoulders and shook her a little. “Stop worrying, will you?” He’d say she would give herself prematurely grey hair…but her hair was already white. 

She huffed, shoulders slumping. “But you’re sick.” 

“And even sick, slapping some Wardens and their pet demons around won’t be too hard. Besides,” He stepped back and held his arms open to include everyone behind him, “I have the Inquisition.” 

***** 

The day to leave for Adamant arrived after a flurry of preparation. Many groups had already left to aid those in the desert. Only the Inner Circle and a relatively small company of soldiers were left. Those who wouldn’t participate in the battle would instead guard Skyhold. 

It was always a big fuss when the Inquisitor left, many people (soldiers and dignitaries alike) would gather to watch. This time, though, it was merely because this was the first large scale battle the Inquisition forces had done. And many of them worried if the Inquisitor’s luck would hold. 

Stable hands brought their mounts as they got them ready. They attached packs to the saddles while the riders milled around, waiting. Banal looked around for his own mount. Usually his was the first to come. 

He sighed up at the sky. “This is why I like mounts that are dead.” Most likely the Hart was being difficult for difficulty’s sake. The beasts were notorious for being stubborn and often felt the need to challenge their handlers. In fact, most of the Harts that would be riding had not been delivered yet. Even the Dracolisks had arrived before them. 

Just as he looked around, he caught a glimpse of white from the corner of his eye. He turned. And sure enough, there was Raj, unsaddled, unbridled with a flushed stable hand chasing after him with Banal’s tack. The Hart trotted happily up to Banal and tried to lick him in greeting. 

Banal, however, was ready for it this time and leaned back to avoid it. “Will you cease that?” He growled at the beast. The Hart snorted and stamped a foot. Banal frowned. “Yes, yes, hello to you too.” 

Many people stopped in their movements and turned to look curiously at the elf…talking to a Hart. The Elvhen continued doing what they were doing. Harts were known to be chatty and cheeky. 

The stable hand rushed up to Banal, panting from trying to run and carry his tack. “T-terribly sorry, my lord, but h-he wouldn’t let me…” The boy had to stop to catch his breath. Banal looked at the Hart. 

“Any particular reason?” He asked. 

“I-I don’t know, he just wouldn’t let me saddle him.” The elf cocked an eyebrow. 

“I wasn’t asking you,” He clarified. He waited for the Hart to bugle loudly at the boy making him jump like he was about to get trampled. Raj then shook out his fur. “Really? You don’t like the saddle?” The arrogance of Harts knew no bounds. 

Nenara and Zeyras stepped up to the Hart with little bows, inserting themselves into the conversation. “Does ‘e not like t’e saddle or just saddles in general?” 

Raj snorted with a bob of his head. 

“Well, you’re just going to have to get used to them.” Banal hissed at the beast. Who flicked his tail and gave a soft bugle at him. “ **I** need to get used to not having them?” He scoffed. “No. I’m not riding you without a saddle, damn your pride.” 

Varric stepped up to Tahon who was a bit behind the group. His face was contorted in amazement and confusion when the duelist looked down from his saddlebags. “Is…this a normal thing with elves?” Tahon looked over his shoulders at his father-in-law trying to explain to the Hart that it was at least a week of riding to get where they were headed. 

“What a Hart not wanting to wear a saddle? You’d be surprised at how vain they can be.” He shrugged. The dwarf blinked. 

“No…the having a conversation with the Hart.” 

Tahon furrowed his eyebrows, not finding it weird in the slightest. “Do…mortals not talk to Harts?” He asked delicately. The dwarf shook his head. “Well, no wonder they’d sooner bite and kick you in the head than let you ride them.” 

“Beg pardon?” 

“You don’t ask your mounts if they are okay with carrying you or your things? That’s a little rude.” Tahon shook his head in disbelief. “They aren’t stupid animals you know.” 

It was Varric’s turn to furrow his eyebrows. “But they can’t talk…” At least not in any way he could understand. The duelist snorted and smirked. 

“Maybe not how we talk, but they talk. You just have to learn how to listen.” 

“For the love of darkness and decay!” Banal’s voice cut into the air. “Fine! Zeyras will work with Harriett and Rithara to make you a new saddle!” He pressed a hand into his forehead. It was too early to be dealing with a Hart. “Just will you please let the boy saddle you so we can leave?!” 

Raj flicked his tail, and shook out his fur again. Banal growled in his throat. The nerve of Harts… 

“Fine, if that’ll get you saddled, I’ll do it.” He hissed. He snatched the saddle from the bewildered and slightly frightened human boy. “He requires a brush for the road. I will saddle him.” The boy blinked. Was it okay for him to let the Inquisitor saddle his own mount? Most nobles he worked for didn’t even know how to put a bridle on a horse much less one of the big elk things. “Well?” Banal turned from him and placed the tack on the ground next to the Hart. 

Raj looked as smug as a Hart could get as Banal lifted his bridle. Sans bit of course. Some of the Elvhen chuckled as the Inquisitor grumbled to himself. The other Harts were apparently more behaved as they let the stable hands lead them to their riders. 

“You know I could kill you and bind a spirit in you.” He whispered to the Hart’s back. “Bet that’d make you less stubborn.” The Hart turned and tried to lick Banal’s armor. The elf dodged away. This might not have been **his** armor, as Dagna wished to study it, but he still didn't want Hart spit on it. 

His own armor fascinated the dwarf with its ancient enchantments and she wanted to see if she could replicate them elsewhere. Also she needed to see if her runes to hold Banal’s power could be put into it. Rithara had already told her that to do so would disrupt the other enchantments, but the dwarf didn’t like being told no. 

So the two were to be found in the Undercroft most waking hours, Rithara explaining how the enchantments bound the armor to Banal, channeling his magic through the crystal and making it far stronger than dragon bones. It wasn’t commonplace in their time, as the process was expensive and time consuming. That kind of crystal had to be mined carefully, smithed carefully, and enchanted carefully or it would shatter. So only high ranking officers of the army or the royal families could afford such armor. 

No matter the origins of the armor, Banal was stuck in one of Harriett’s Enchanter armor, sans boots because he could see no reason to wear them. He wasn’t happy about it either. Mage armor was nothing but cloth and a few scraps of leather or rings of metal. There was nothing stopping an arrow from flying into his chest or a sword from cutting into his legs. So he felt rather naked. Not something you want to feel when you’re heading into battle. 

A girlish giggle sounded around the courtyard as Vhena descended the steps to find her father buckling his own saddle. The dark elf shot a glare her way, but then continued checking the girth. 

“Well that’s certainly something for the history books.” An’nas laughed as he followed his sister. 

“I think Papae has finally met his match.” Vhena skipped happily to Raj. She placed a kiss upon his nose, scratching under his bridle. The Hart pressed his head against her cheek making her laugh. 

An’nas stroked the Hart’s neck before moving to his husband’s Hart. “Good, maybe Ser Raj can keep Papae out of trouble then.” Banal rolled his eyes at his children. He looked at the group. Everyone was set it seemed. 

“Is there any particular reason why you’re here?” he asked. 

Vhena smiled and walked to her father’s side. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Be safe…” Banal frowned at her need for affection. “Well as safe as you can be in a war.” 

“Yes, yes,” He shooed her back so he could swing himself into the saddle. Raj shifted a bit under his weight, but otherwise did not shy. The others took it as a sign to mount their own beasts. 

“Hey now, aren’t you forgetting something?” An’nas called to his husband. Tahon blinked down at him. He tapped himself, going through a mental checklist. 

He touched the two swords crossed on his lower back and the dagger situated above them. Then he looked back at his pack. “I’ve got my swords, bedroll, canteen and rations…” He looked at his mate in confusion. 

The dawn eyed elf sighed. Slowly he undid the green with golden designs cloth he kept tied around his left hand. Once it was unraveled, revealing that black mark that hid there, An’nas looked up at his duelist. Tahon smiled at the worry his mate had in his eyes. His cute little halla. 

Tahon reached underneath his breastplate, pulling out a similar green cloth. Only his had a black wolf jaw tied on it. He pulled it over his head and leaned down. He placed it around An’nas’s neck just as he took the other one’s cloth. He gave it a kiss before tying it around his bicep. 

“Now don’t go getting it dirty,” An’nas’s voice shook a little. “And…please, try not to get run through.” Tahon laughed. 

“I shall attempt to keep all my innards where they should be, _hallalin_ ” He kissed his forehead. 

At the same time, Rithara had grabbed a hold of Nenara before she could mount. With a whisper of a touch, she felt her way up her arm to the pirate’s neck. She followed the silk bandana to its knot and undid it. Her other hand reached up and pulled her own blue cloth from her eyes. Nenara kept still as her wife tied the fabric that was worth quite a bit of money around her head. It was a bit long and wide to be a headband, but it felt comforting to have the knot tails brush against her neck and see it run over her breast. 

The pirate smiled, “Oh, quit it, Rith, you’re goin’ to make me get all emotional.” She laughed before kissing her nose. 

“Stone forbid, they see my pirate queen cry.” Rithara snorted, wrapping the bandana around her own neck. 

“Damn t’at looks good on you.” Nenara smirked. She looked around her before leaning in to whisper, “bet you’d look even better wit’ not’ing else.” Her crystalline wife laughed and pushed her away. 

“Come back and you might get to find out.” Well, damn if that wasn’t incentive to survive a war, she didn’t know what was. Nenara gave her a big, sloppy kiss before mounting her Tirashan Hart. 

Everyone looked around, wondering what the hell was happening and why they hadn’t moved yet. But Banal glanced up at the stairs, finding an uncharacteristically hesitant blood mage on her way down. So he stayed his Hart. He gave an order to check the supply wagon, using a bit of magic to burn a securing rope apart. That should give the two a few minutes at least. 

Samahlnan played with the little black ribbon in her hands, nervously. Her hands shook even worse than normal. She watched the ground as she wandered up to their resident drug dealer. He was once again checking his doctor’s bag for all his tools. He hoped the Inquisition had plenty of supplies in one of the wagons. They were going to need it. 

“Hey, idiot,” She greeted with a meek smile. Lotus snapped his head to her, eyes wide. Then he smiled back at her. 

“Lady Sama,” He gave a mock bow with a bit of flourish. 

“Have everything you need?” 

The healer blew out a breath, pushing back the bangs that hung in his eyes as he raked a hand through his curls. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. It seems like I’m forgetting something.” He had more than enough needles and thread. Bandages were in the wagon. His mortar and pestle and other alchemical equipment were either tucked away in his bag or carefully packed in a wagon. 

So what was he forgetting? His hair fell back into his face. He supposed he probably wouldn’t remember until they were down the road already. He was so lost in thought that hands pulling his hair back startled him. He snapped his head around, only for a delicate and cold hand to shove it back. 

“Relax, idiot, I’m just tying your out-of-control locks back. You can’t have it falling in your eyes when you are stitching some shemlen up.” Samahlnan teased. The Lotusmaker rolled his eyes, but hid a smile. “There.” The blood mage stepped back, admiring her handiwork. She managed to make him look halfway presentable if she did say so herself. “Now that ribbon is from one of my dresses, so I better damn well get it back.” 

She was teasing him, but worry was in her blue eyes. Lotus smirked and bowed. “Of course, I would never think of depriving a lady of one of her ribbons.” That brought a smile, a real smile to her face. 

“Alright, Inquisitor, you can stop burning ropes now!” She called out. Banal snorted. 

“I know not of what you speak, da’ras.” 

***** 

“So what was that weird thing you did with Speckles, Rebel?” Varric asked as their mounts walked through a canyon. They’d be at Adamant by tomorrow’s eve. They just had to get out this canyon first. And rest. 

Tahon looked around, “I take it ‘Rebel’ is me now?” 

“I’ve come to realize it is the dwarf’s way of saying he likes you.” Banal called back from a few mounts ahead. “And no you don’t get to give input on your name.” 

The duelist blew a breath out his nose. He supposed he could go with it. Even if it was eerily close to what his father was called way back when. Apparently he couldn’t run from it. “Ok. Fine. What weird thing are you talking about, Varric? We do a lot of weird things.” 

The dwarf chuckled. “Fair point. The exchanging cloth thing you and Speckles did, same with Crystals and Bandana.” Also Lotus and Lily, but he wasn’t opening up that jar until he knew what the jar was. 

“Oh that?” Tahon spoke just as Nenara exclaimed, “Why do I get Bandana?” like she was insulted. 

“Easiest way to tell you apart from the others.” Varric shrugged. Besides, that bandana around her throat obviously meant something right? And it was just weird to not see it on her. 

“It was an…Elvhen tradition between bondmates.” Tahon gave, hoping he worded it correctly. “When one or both were called to battle, they would exchange their…” He frowned. “There’s not really a word for it in your tongue.” He huffed loudly. 

“It would be similar to exchanging your wedding rings, Varric.” Banal clarified. 

“So…instead of rings, the ancient elves used pieces of cloth for their marriages?” Blackwall asked, bewildered. Rings were metal, they wouldn’t fray or burn. It was eternal so to speak. Cloth wasn’t. 

All the Elvhen members frowned. “Not marriage. Bonding.” Nehnlin stressed. 

“What’s the difference?” 

There was almost a collective sigh from their ancient companions. “Marriage is heirs, alliances, and politics usually. Bonding is love. At least for nobility.” Sulahn’mi explained quietly. “They don’t have to be the same person.” 

“It’s sort of a compromise like: marry this person to ensure we have a stronger bloodline and then you can bond with whoever you want. Discreetly. Usually.” Arvaan chuckled a bit at the last part. 

“Outside the noble asses,” Nehnlin continued, “marriage and bonding happen to the same person. So your wife or husband is your bondmate.” 

“It’s just w’en you start marrying and bonding wit’ other people, t’ey take offense.” Nenara rolled her brown eyes with a smile. “Unless you’re a Fen, t’en we don’t care.” She and Nehnlin, who was riding beside her, high-fived. 

“So why cloth? Wouldn’t metal last longer?” Varric asked. 

“It’s special cloth woven with many spells and wards,” Sula spoke softly. She, of course, left out the blood magic ritual that created those spells and bindings. “Cloth bends and stretches; it can fray, but it can always be mended. Like love. Metal is…well it is like a link in a chain: once broken, it can’t easily be fixed without melting it down and starting anew.” 

Well that was deep, Varric thought as all the mortals shared a stunned silence. Elves were apparently very poetic when they wanted to be. Of course living for so long might lead one to become poetic and sentimental. 

“Usually we keep our own cloth as a reminder of our bond.” Tahon shrugged. “But in times of war when we cannot be near our mate, we take theirs and they ours. So in case one of us dies, we’ll be with them.” He chuckled. That just sounded silly out loud. “It’s all purely sentimental really.” 

The romantic in Cassandra was going crazy with adoration for the ritual. Another part was marveling in how deep and rich their culture could be even when apparently war was so commonplace nearly everything revolved around it. For immortal creatures, the Elvhen were very fatalistic. 

She just hoped it wasn’t a bad omen. 

***** 

“Wardens!” sounded from behind the door. It was a woman with a thick Orlesian accent. 

“Ah, that would be Clarel.” Tabris stated with no small amount of annoyance. “She always did like to give speeches.” She was more of a stand in the shadows with witty asides than a speechmaker. 

“Sad to say, but my patience for speeches has run out.” Banal grumbled as he threw open the door and marched through the small hallway. 

“—that may mean little in Tevinter, but for the Wardens it is a sacred duty.” Clarel told Erimond. She then could be heard whispering something. Banal felt a pull of magic, it crawling over his skin. Everything here was wrong. He wanted it right, needed it right. The whining behind his ears was starting to become deafening. His head swam and spun. 

Banal and company all entered the hall just as Clarel slit the throat of another Warden. His body crumpled to the floor, blood pooling in the air. 

“Stop them! We must complete the ritual!” The magister shouted. The Warriors turned to the Inquisitor’s merry band. He saw hesitance in their eyes. Fear. It was tangible to Banal. They were frightened, worried their friends were dying for nothing. 

“Of course, by all means continue binding the Wardens to your master!” Banal rolled his eyes. “Far be it from me to stop Corypheus.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he held up a hand to stop the others from attacking. The Wardens all paused at that, looking around. 

“Corypheus?” seemed to be the main thing said. Their eyes turned to Tabris and the Ferelden Grey Wardens. 

“You all heard ‘im! Your little Tevinter friend is all buddy-buddy with a darkspawn magister.” She put her hands, still gripping bloody swords, on her hips. “And I got branded a traitor for allying with one.” She snorted. “Bunch of hypocrites aren’t ya?” 

“Commander, is that really necessary?” Nathaniel sighed. 

“Yes. Yes it is, Nate. At least my darkspawn is trying to cure the Taint, not ripping holes in the sky.” Varric and Hawke shared a look before turning their questioning gazes to the little elf. Even Zevran was looking at his wife in bewilderment. 

“Mi amor?” He said softly. “When we were regaling each other of our time apart…is there any particular reason you would leave the darkspawn magister out?” 

Tabris got the look of a child who realized they were in trouble as the former Crow raised a questioning eyebrow. “Uh…I didn’t want you to be jealous?” She tried. Zevran snorted, but remained unaffected. 

“Someone’s in the doghouse…” Anders mumbled. 

A screech came through the Rift, silencing all conversation. Banal could see something with a lot of eyes through it. The fear surrounding them kicked up a few notches. “I have no quarrel with Wardens, though I do have a rather large one with Corypheus. No one gets to kick me in the head and live for very long. I have spared as many of you as I could. But if you do not back down, you will force my hand.” 

It was strange to hear words of mercy fall from the elf’s mouth. But the Wardens looked back up at Clarel. 

“I honor your bravery. It was stupid, but stupid bravery seems to be our forte.” Lyllie called out. 

Clarel and the magister glared at the little elf. “Do not listen to her! She has chosen to side with the Blight before! She will say anything to sway your mind!” Erimond bellowed. 

Tabris rolled her eyes. “Don’t be upset because my darkspawn magister is better than yours.” She mocked. 

“Commander!” Nathaniel and Anders shouted together. Anders smacked his forehead. He had forgotten how much trouble the little elf could get herself into. He also didn’t recall her sarcasm being this bad. Nathaniel sighed loudly. She never took anything seriously. 

“I have seen more than my fair share of blood magic! It is never worth the cost!” Ambrose called out. “I grew up with tales of the Wardens, about their honor and pride. They make the sacrifices no one else will, but this…killing your allies…this is too far!” 

“Surely some of you know you are being used.” Banal tried. The more than Rift opened, the harder was for him to breathe. Something was strangling him it seemed. Pulling at him. Not the Mark, but him. 

“The mages that have done the ritual? They’re not right…” One Warden spoke up with a shaking voice. “They were my friends, but now they’re like puppets on a string.” 

“You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!” Clarel yelled. 

“He’s not afraid, you are!” Hawke countered. “You’re afraid that you’ve ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing!” 

“Except to give Corypheus his demon army.” Banal helpfully added. Everyone looked to Clarel. Her eyebrows furrowed as she thought. Banal felt that flicker of doubt trickle through her. Like the single drop that caused a hurricane, it picked up speed and volume until it was crashing all around her. 

Erimond seemed to sense it too. “Clarel, we’ve come so far.” He pleaded as though he truly cared. He was a good liar, Banal would give him that. “You’re the only one who can do this.” 

“Perhaps we can test the truth of these charges. To avoid more bloodshed.” Clarel spoke slowly, contemplating each word. 

“Or perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally.” Erimond’s demeanor changed instantly. He gripped his staff tighter, clicking it on the ground. Red sparks flew from its base. Banal shivered at the feel of its magic, slime trickling down his spine. “My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!” 

A dragon’s roar shook the fortress. Tabris shivered, feeling the corrupted beast come closer. She knew it wasn’t an Archdemon, but still that much Taint inside something…It hurt to be around. Zevran brushed their shoulders together. He had fought the Archdemon with her before, he’d do it again if he had to. 

The Orlesian Wardens all gaped as Corypheus’s pet flew around, knocking some of the ornaments off. Banal stood still, refusing to show any emotion. Erimond was not the one in control. He was. Varric would have to give the Inquisitor a round of applause for not even flinching when a piece of shrapnel cut his cheek. 

Clarel looked from the dragon to Erimond, fear in her eyes. That fear soon turned into anger as the beast roared. Banal gave a tiny bit of magic to that fury. He made it twist slightly. Become coiled, ready to strike. 

A lightning bolt slammed into Erimond. His staff clattered to the ground. The dragon turned its head to look. Clarel readied herself. She was a Warden. Defeating the Blight, the Archdemons was her duty. And here stood one. 

“Clarel…wait…” Erimond pleaded. She barely paid attention as she sent another bolt towards the dragon. Banal sighed loudly. Of course she did. Why couldn’t she have just killed the magister? 

Before anyone could really comprehend what was going on, the dragon was up and breathing fire down on them. “Help the Inquisitor!” Clarel commanded before bounding off after Erimond. Banal took a step forward to give chase. 

Whatever was on the other side of the Rift seemed to have gotten tired of waiting. A pride demon was pushed out. Banal’s head gave a sharp pain. He swayed on his feet as black dotted his vision for a moment. 

“Take it easy there, Smiley. This isn’t the time to pass out.” Varric quipped with a shaking voice. He really didn’t like the red lyrium fire thing. The flames hit the ground like shards of glass. He didn’t fancy getting cut by one. 

“I’ll try to control the urge.” Banal just really hoped he could. 

***** 

“Right! Where’s the damn exit?!” Varric shouted as the pride demon fell. The dragon was still raining hell down on them. Fear was thick in the air. They were trapped in this fortress after all. There were very few places they could take cover in, and even fewer were near. 

Banal, however, wasn’t thinking that. He had to go after Clarel and Erimond. Why? Well because those two idiots caused this and someone was going to pay for his headache. He didn’t care who he had to tear it out of their hides, just so long as he got to do it. He began running towards the stairs that went up the fortress. 

Tabris sighed, seeing that look in the Inquisitor’s eyes. “Zev, Nate, Anders, help the rest of the Wardens clean up, will ya?” She gave her husband peck on the cheek before bounding after the other elf. Solas, Dorian and Varric hesitated for a moment. But then remembering the state of their Inquisitor, they took off. 

As it turns out, Banal didn’t get much of a choice in the matter of who he got to kill later. What with the dragon nearly biting Clarel in half and all…So he was going to have to settle for the magister. A growl built in Banal’s throat as he stalked towards the still smoking magister. 

He only stopped when he heard the dragon come back around. They all turned to watch the beast spit Clarel out near them. Banal could see nothing but blood. Most of her organs had been torn apart. Nothing would have been recognizable. His eyes flickered back to the dragon as he took a step back. 

His mind spun. How could he get them out of this? His magic hurt. His body hurt. Everything just hurt. He felt…mortal. Vulnerable. He couldn’t even keep a simple fire ward around himself to stay warm! Yet he had to think of somehow to ensure they weren’t backed off the bridge… 

His elven ears flared back in anger. But then they flicked forward again, hearing something. Tabris heard it too. “In war, victory…In peace, vigilance…” The dragon was overtop Clarel now. Banal felt the magic gather around her even before he saw lightning. The bolt, fueled by the blood around her, struck the beast in the stomach just as it started to leap. 

They all hit the ground. Air whooshed over them as the dragon toppled over the edge of the bridge. Then the ground started shaking. Banal looked around, dazed. He looked over his shoulder. 

The dragon tried to scramble back up. But it only succeeded in making the bridge collapse faster. The beast’s weight finally won out and it fell. “ _Fenedhis…_ ” Slipped out of his mouth as the bridge began collapsing. 

For the first time, Banal’s heart stopped in panic. Still, his body pulled itself up and tried to run. His mind knew he couldn’t make it to the stable part. None of them could. But his body needed to try. Even as the stones gave way from beneath his feet. He had to try. 

The ground fell away. His back smacked into a rock. He turned in the air. Seconds crawled by like centuries. His eyes fixated on a green light. His Mark burned. He could open it. At least in the Fade, the fall wouldn’t kill them. 

He reached out. And tore the air asunder. 

***** 

Entering the Fade…was not one of Banal’s better ideas, he decided. He looked around frantically. He spied Varric, Dorian, and Solas all trying to get their bearings as well. But he was looking for a way out. 

The sky was endless, but he felt it compress on him. His heart hammered in his chest. His ears twitched every way they could. The whining was worse in here. So high pitched he could barely hear anything over it. It hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out. 

Then the tugging began. Not an actual tugging mind you. But like something put a string around his heart and pulled. Or a chain on a collar. It pulled him forwards. It pulled him towards something **wrong**. He couldn’t say how he knew it was wrong. It was just a twisting in his chest, something strangling the air he breathed. And he wanted it gone. Needed it gone. A fog began to settle over his mind. 

“Was it anything like this?” Hawke’s voice finally came through the ringing. It cleared it some. Banal’s eyes moved slowly towards the Champion. They were glassy like he wasn’t focused. Everyone shared a look of concern. 

Banal blinked, trying to clear more of the fog. He wasn’t right. He needed to leave here. But he also needed to fix that wrong, get rid of the fog it caused him… “I…don’t remember.” Banal finally gave. His eyes found the other Rift. “We need to leave.” 

Of that they could agree, at least. 

“Is something the matter, Inquisitor?” Dorian asked, out of habit. The elf seemed anxious (not that he could blame him, but more so than what you would expect from being in the Fade). His eyes darted. His body shook. His breathing was more like a bird’s than a person’s. And his ears were…bleeding? “Maker’s breath, why are you bleeding?” 

Suddenly everyone looked to the Inquisitor. Sure enough his ears were beginning to trickle blood. But Banal didn’t seem to notice. He seemed to stare off at something no one could see, towards some wisps. 

“Something’s wrong.” The dark elf whispered. There was a little wrong over there. Fear. Someone was afraid. But this was the place of fear…yet this fear hurt. It was like a branding iron pressing against his brain and heart. Or being held under the water, lungs burning as he tried not to breathe in water. 

Solas swallowed as the Forgotten One moved forward as though in a daze. He acted as though under compulsion or geas. His eyes never left whatever he was staring at. Stranger still, the wisps didn’t bother him. Of course they didn’t. Why would they harm him? 

The others had yet to notice. Black was beginning to trickle into Banal’s eyes. His nails darkened. Solas felt that change. The once weak life magic had begun to suck at the Fade, at the place beyond the Fade. It pulled and took greedily, feeding that part that made Banal what he was. 

Solas had never planned for Banal to enter the Fade. He had never planned of entering here either. Both their presences would not go unnoticed. The Dread Wolf’s eyes fell on the Black City. He just hoped his old wards had not fallen. 

***** 

_He_ felt him the moment he entered. That hole inside of _him_ suddenly flooded with awareness. Something _he_ had not felt for eons. _He_ felt complete suddenly. There was no fuzzy feeling as _he_ vaguely sensed the other dreaming. There was no pins throughout _his_ body as something hurt the other. 

There also was no real sense of being complete. _He_ just was. _He_ was just right. Everything was right. 

But it wasn’t. He shouldn’t be here. He was out there, beyond this prison. On the other side. _He_ cocked _his_ head to the side. _His_ hands stilled in their task. _His_ whetstone paused over _his_ axe. The thread that bound them together pulled. It sung and hummed and tempted. 

But it also told _him_ things. Many things. 

Sometimes when the other was asleep, it pulled at _him_. The other became so clear, _he_ could swear _he_ could touch him. _He_ watched the spirits craft him dreams. Other times, the thread came alive as though he was searching for _him_. Unconsciously of course. _He_ doubted the other even remembered they shared this thread. _He_ had made sure he didn’t. But it didn’t stop the soul from seeking out its other half in distress. 

At times, _he_ would answer its longing call, coaxing the other to sleep. Soothing the pains he did not know he had. _He_ watched him. It was a small comfort. The durgen’len kept him from straying too far from himself. The shemlen all helped too, in their own ways. They gave him friends, allies. _He_ trusted them to keep him safe. That spirit of compassion was a bit meddlesome, scratching at _his_ barrier. 

_He_ had to break the rules a bit to get it to stop hunting around, go inside the thread. It couldn’t get rid of everything _he_ had done to protect him. _He_ wouldn’t allow it. _He_ couldn’t. 

Which was why _he_ was listening then. Solas was with him. Was this part of the Wolf’s scheming? Did he plan to shove him in here too? _He_ gritted _his_ teeth. The Fade bent around _him_. The very sky twisted and conformed itself into a mirror for _him_ to see into that realm. _His_ “guard” cocked an eyebrow, tail twitching. But otherwise the spirit remained still. 

_He_ was given far more leeway than the others. Probably because _he_ hadn’t tried to escape even when the wards had dissolved. Or rather they were ripped apart, but still _he_ didn’t try to flee like the others. _He_ was content to watch him live. It was probably better this way. 

_His_ sister, son, and former friends however? Apparently a sedentary lifestyle did not suit them. They wanted to have a hand in everything. They had to have a hand in everything. _He_ had ensured _he_ did long before they were trapped here. 

How _he_ did so was walking through the Nightmare’s domain right now. _He_ smirked bitterly. He looked the same, longer hair of course, but he was still the same. Black hair with that white streak. Green and red eyes. His markings were gone, replaced by vallaslin. 

A longing sprang into _his_ heart. So close, yet _he_ could not touch him, hold him, or kiss him. He hated _him_. As he should. It still didn’t make it hurt less. 

_He_ watched as the black haired elf picked up a candle. The other part of him was starting to resurface, _he_ noted. Black was eating at his eyes, pupils turning to slits. No, he wasn’t supposed to remember that. He shouldn’t have to remember all of it…Another Crestwood could not happen. 

_He_ pushed against the thread, opening the connection further. _He_ let it draw from _him_. He was so weak, he couldn’t fight against that compulsion. So _he_ gave him _his_ strength. 

_He_ had a lot of it to spare. Here in the Fade, _he_ had nothing to do but sit, look out over the shifting landscape and sharpen _his_ axe. The others stayed far from _him_. _He_ was no longer one of them. _He_ hadn’t been, not truly, for nearly five thousand years. _He_ just pretended as they did, biding time till _his_ vengeance had been brought down. 

_He_ shook _his_ head away from the anger and hurt. _His_ guard shifted, feeling those emotions. It was best not to upset the spirit who could turn from kindly guard to demon in a matter of seconds. Its kind were like that. 

Instead _he_ focused on _his_ other half. He was placing the candle on a table in front of a spirit. The black in his eyes was lessening as _he_ stabilized him. He needed to leave though. Already the Fade dwellers were taking note of him. 

A sharp twinge hit _his_ skull. It was dark, hate, death… _His_ spirit guard stiffened feeling it as well. The one person _he_ had hoped would overlook the trespassers… 

_He_ stood. _His_ heart began to beat faster, panic beginning to rise. He couldn’t fight that one. He never could. Anger came back, breaking the mirror. _He_ needed to protect him, however _he_ could. No matter what, _he_ would make up for _his_ mistakes. 

The spirit turned to _him_. _His_ conviction was rising as was _his_ anger, _his_ protectiveness. It understood those things very well. That dark presence would upset the already unstable balance in that domain. It would draw out another darkness, create more. The spirit’s nature bristled at that. But, its duty was to keep the pointed-ear ones here in the twisted dark spires, away from the physical. 

Yet the fiery one was turning to it. That one had not attempted to run when the Veil had broken. The others had. They were in chains now, till the sky healed. But the fiery one had stayed. The fiery one always stayed. Even when he wandered through the Fade, he came back to the black towers. The fiery one watched the little blooded one who mended the Veil, keeping him safe. 

Now the fiery one wanted to help the blooded one leave. The spirit listened to the singing behind its ears. The Void called to all its children. Things were very wrong. Nature out of balance with itself. Already two of them had gone to put the Nightmare in its place. But the blooded one was out of place as well, needed somewhere else. This was not his home. 

The spirit nodded to itself once before looking at the fiery one. “You may help, but you stay on this side.” 

_He_ smiled at the spirit and bowed. _He_ hadn’t been able to help him before, but now _he_ could. The spirit slashed at the air, opening up a portal to the Nightmare’s realm. The portal shimmered, black around the edges, the image hazy. Most likely the portal would be at one of the edges of the realm, to draw less attention. After all, _he_ didn’t want the demon or the dark presence to know _he_ was there. _He_ wanted Solas to know even less. 

_He_ slipped _his_ axe through its loop on _his_ belt. The air shifted around _him_ as _he_ stepped through, like _he_ was suddenly falling. Time turned on its head. Or rather _he_ did. _He_ stepped out upside down on a rocky ridge. _He_ looked towards the glowing green light in the distance. That’s where _he_ had to go. 

The thread pulled tighter. He was panicking, the other side fighting harder. But all _he_ could do was smile. He felt closer. The barrier was breaking, letting memories come in and go out. But _he_ could also come in. _He_ felt his presence and vice versa. _He_ felt comforted by the lack of wall. 

_He_ closed _his_ eyes, letting that coldness the other radiated seep into _him_. It cooled _his_ fire. As _he_ opened _his_ eyes again, _he_ gripped the thread tighter. After all this time, _he’d_ finally see him again. 

One word slipped passed _his_ lips, soft and almost like a prayer, “Mahviiral…” 

***** 

“Could that have really been the Divine?” Varric asked as they continued down their path. The Inquisitor shook his head. It was a spirit. Its’ being was too pure to be mortal, too much like the Fade. It was constantly shifting, trying to be what it wasn’t. 

“We have survived in the Fade, so perhaps she has as well.” Solas mused. Banal barely took note. His ears were starting to ring again. This time though it was more of a high pitched…singing. He could sense words in the ringing, but could not decipher them. He twitched his ears like something was tickling them. His panic had subsided as he grew used to the Fade. But he got the sense something was watching and it wasn’t just the Nightmare. 

This one wasn’t as old. It was younger, but somehow darker. Banal could sense it better than he could the demon lord of this realm. 

“You sure you’re okay, Smiley?” Varric asked this time. Banal’s head snapped to the dwarf as though startled out of his head. They all could sense something was off with him. His ears were no longer bleeding, but his eyes kept turning glassy. And then out of all of them, Banal was the most freaked out by the Fade. At times they found his steps hesitating from going further, or him wincing like he was passing through a barrier. 

“Peachy.” Banal grumbled, averting his eyes. That other presence, the other dark one was slowly coming closer. It electrified the air. Though there was no such thing as wind in the Fade, a slight breeze could be felt. It was gathering a storm it seemed. 

Then warmth flooded through Banal’s body again. His shaking subsided. He didn’t feel cold. His magic…stabilized. It wasn’t growing stronger, but calming down. The feeling of hands clawing up his throat left. 

“Ah what do we have here?” Sounded around them. Everyone jumped at the deep voice. It came from the very fabric of the Fade itself. 

“What was that?” Tabris asked. She had been in the Fade twice, but always in dreams and never had a voice talked to her. 

“The demon who controls this realm probably.” Banal grumbled. 

“Forgive me, but I’ve seem to have forgotten your name, Inquisitor. What was it again?” The Nightmare chuckled. Banal frowned at the dig. “You don’t even remember yourself, do you? So forgetful of you. Perhaps you are Nothing after all.” 

Banal felt an anger so feral rise, he was sure that shadow had returned. Instead the ground just quaked around him. Those hands returned, trying to drag him down. The coldness came back, though this time the fire fought back. There was something connecting him. It soothed the hands, eased his breathing. 

“Or perhaps you’ve just forgotten all that made you.” The Nightmare continued as the group descended into a water filled area. Shades and wisps shrunk away from Banal, eyeing the others but not getting too close to the elf. “I could help. Allow me to return what you’ve forgotten.” 

“You know there’s only one kind of demon I like.” Banal growled. “A dead one.” Varric smirked. Then that ringing/singing returned in Banal’s ears. He hissed as he squeezed his eyes shut. He violently shook his head like that could make it stop. It only made it sound weird. Like he was turning away from the sound and then looking back. 

The tugging started again. His eyes darted around. Fear. There was so much fear. It was like looking for one particular color of gray among thousands. Like a puppet being commanded, Banal walked forward. The water frosted as he walked. 

“Okay so anyone else freaked out by the Inquisitor?” Lyllie asked quietly as the black haired elf paused to listen. Her dog had done that before when he was sniffing for some treasure. He’d walk, then stop and sniff, walk a little more and then stop. Only her dog didn’t have weird eyes that kept going from regular pupils to slits. 

“Chuckles, you’re the Fade expert here, any idea?” Varric and the others looked at Solas. The bald elf wet his lips. He couldn’t exactly explain it truthfully. In a world that understood so little of the Fade and its citizens, they couldn’t fully understand the Inquisitor’s circumstances. Hell the Elvhen couldn’t fully understand it! 

So rather than try to explain it, he shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Varric. Perhaps it is a side effect of the Mark or he is merely sensitive to the Fade.” They watched as the Inquisitor finally stopped in front of a spirit. It was trapped it seemed. It touched Banal’s hand, letting him see what it feared. 

The Blight wiped so many things away. It descended so quickly, destroying everything. Banal turned around, eyes searching for something. The spirit needed to see not everything died. There was life after the Blight. Things grow and adapt. The need to show, to alleviate the fear was so strong he didn’t even notice his companions. It was like he couldn’t see them as he walked through them towards a hidden area. 

The pulling was stronger here. The singing became clearer. So did the feeling of not being able to breathe. Banal stopped. The hands were back. His entire body locked up. The singing got louder and louder. His eyes looked to the left as his body panicked. 

Flowers. 

The flowers radiated the song. 

They’d fix the fear. 

His thoughts were becoming disjointed. He slid a foot towards the plants. It was like moving through mud, everything thick and sucking him back, but a chain was dragging him forward. 

He needed the singing to stop. It hurt too much. This form couldn’t withstand it, understand it. His body fought it too much, pulling away, pushing it away. It didn’t want that. He needed to accept it, but he couldn’t. He had to give up this form that was wrong. But he didn’t have another one. 

A hand clasped his shoulder, jolting him. The singing paused. Ambrose was staring at him bewildered. “What’s going on with you?” 

Banal blinked as his eyes slid back to the flowers. The world seemed to narrow in on them again. Then he looked at the Champion. Everything became clear. “I’m…not sure.” Banal gave. He pointed at the flowers. He didn’t want to go near them, for fear of the singing starting again. “Can you take those to the spirit?” He asked quietly. 

Hawke blinked and looked at the flowers. The Inquisitor’s eyes were downcast. Like he was ashamed of something. “Would it not be wiser to try and get out of here quickly?” He asked. 

Banal’s body went rigid like he was preparing to run. His eyes snapped to the Champion. “No!” His voice echoed around the air, almost taking a demonic tone. Everyone jumped at its sound. The elf’s eyes darted frantically over to the flowers. The pupils slitted, black bleeding in from the corners. Then he looked back at Hawke and they returned to normal. “I…can’t.” 

Banal couldn’t explain it beyond that. He just couldn’t leave the spirit. Perhaps this is how Cole felt being around a hurt. That compulsion to help that wouldn’t let go. And to leave would cause more pain than helping. 

Hawke looked back at the others, confused and conflicted. Something was clearly wrong. But they didn’t know how to fix it. Or if they even could. 

***** 

It was the first time they had ever seen him frightened. 

Banal’s back stiffened, eyes dilated. He froze like that would prevent whatever from seeing him. His face lost several shades of color. A small shiver ran through him as the fearlings morphed to his own personal nightmare. 

He didn’t even know he was frightened. 

Before him were figures wrapped in shadows. Only their eyes glowed. Eyes the same color as his own. They flashed once, decimating the shadows. Only to reveal…himself. Only different. 

Shadow antlers sprung from his skull, the five deadly points glittering with frost and a few bits of moss hanging from them. Two points even had a spider web between them. A spindly tail whipped its metal spear-like tip about. Large almost diseased looking wings, white with black feathers scattered about, sprung from a black mist on his back. His slitted eyes stared at him in a sea of black. Strange markings shimmered over his skin like snow. 

Banal swallowed, taking one step back. They were just demons, messing with his mind, he told himself. Yet…for some reason they were ringing a bell. Like he had seen this before. That wall inside his head began to crack and warp, like someone scratching in his skull. 

The coldness crept back inside him. It ate at his fingertips, crawling up and over him. He began shivering. Small tremors at first, but as the cold destroyed all heat around him, the shivers quickly became rather violent as he stared at the demonic images of himself. Each breath he exhaled formed a little white cloud. His body began to feel weaker, the cold and fear draining him. 

Warmth began to pulse through him, a connection reopening. It tore itself wider, the thread becoming a channel. It seemed to go straight through his heart, where the heat pulsed out to the rest of his body. His hands gripped his spear tighter, lips pulling back to bare his lengthening fangs. 

His magic still hurt, even with being in the Fade. It was almost like it was trying to reach for something that wasn’t there but beyond there. But that channel soothed the pain. It wasn’t his magic, yet his will was drawing from it. It was a warm kind of magic, soft like sand beat by waves, sun shining down on it. 

Black flames lit along his spear as he readied it. With a less than elegant twirl and slash, he sent a shockwave of black hurling towards the Fearlings. Their bodies locked up as the flames froze them in place. 

“Shit.” Varric grumbled as Banal fell to one knee from the sudden surge of power. He fired off a bolt into the frozen corrupted wolf. It shattered on impact. Hawke threw a stone fist at one of the spiders while Tabris drove her daggers into the back of the shriek. Her hands quivered as the thing dissolved away. 

“What…the hell were those things?” She asked. Give her a Sloth demon and crazed Baroness over this any day. 

“Little fears, tiny manifestations formed from the Nightmare itself.” Solas mused. 

“And they take the form of spiders…” Hawke shivered. He hated those things. It was always spiders. 

“You saw spiders?” Varric scoffed. “I saw creatures corrupted by red lyrium. I would’ve taken spiders!” 

“Remember we walk in the Fade. Demons of fear shape their appearance to unnerve each of us.” Solas spoke quietly as Banal staggered to his feet. He watched warily as the other elf shook his head as though to clear it. Any longer here and the other side that hid within the Inquisitor would win the battle… 

“Wonderful…” Varric sighed. Of course the demons had to be personalized. “You okay still, Smiley? You’re starting to breathe hard again.” 

Banal looked over at the dwarf. His left eye…black had taken nearly half of its white, and was slowly spreading like a drop of blood in water. Everyone winced. “If I answer yes, would you stop asking?” He spoke around fangs. 

Varric swallowed, trying to find some strand of courage. It was still the Inquisitor wasn’t it? No matter how freaky he was starting to become right? Right… “Not unless you looked it.” Varric gave a shaky chuckle. 

Banal could easily feel the party’s rising fear, it singing a song to his magic. It was a frantic crescendo of crashing heartbeats and thoughts. He was a cause of their fear. But he couldn’t fix it. If he left them, they’d panic more. No. They needed to leave, and that was that. 

“Then no, I am not.” The elf gave with a straight face. Dorian blinked at the admission of weakness. How did the dwarf manage to unarm the elf so easily?! 

Solas walked up to him, slowly as to not startle him. With the other one so close to the surface, the Dread Wolf did not wish to tempt Fate and court Death by moving too quickly. Predators, be they of the physical world or the Fade, reacted to sudden movements. He put a hand over Banal’s heart and opened up his magic. 

As it was, the Inquisitor barely had enough magic to remain conscious, let alone beating his heart. He should’ve been gaining strength. He could feed off emotions, fear, anger, despair, all of that. Yet he wasn’t…or perhaps he couldn’t? 

“Judging from the look on your face, the prognosis isn’t good, is it?” Tabris asked into the silence as worry and frustration knitted Solas’s brow. Even opening his own magic up for the dark elf to syphon off of didn’t work. 

“His magic isn’t growing any stronger.” Solas stated plainly as Banal turned his head away from them. His ears twitched as he felt that dark presence again. This time it was closer. The storm continued to gather. He could almost hear thunder, feel the air charging like lightning was about to strike him. 

“But, if I understand how Elvhen magic works correctly,” Dorian started, watching the Inquisitor’s back become tense, “shouldn’t his Fade magic be pulling from the Fade right now?” Tabris and Hawke shared a confused look, but kept their mouths shut. 

Solas nodded. “Perhaps because he is not sleeping, but here physically…” Or they were very wrong about how Banal’s magic worked. 

***** 

Banal’s head pounded as memories settled back into it. Rather like shoving a tooth back in after it had fallen out really. “So, the person they saw behind me in Haven was really the Divine…” He looked at the spirit imitating her. “Then the demons killed her.” 

“Yes.” The spirit said softly. 

“So this is what? Another spirit?” Tabris asked with a huff. Too many spirits for one day. 

“Of course, Tiger Lilly, what else did you expect?” Ambrose rolled his eyes as the Warden glared. The tension between them was starting to reach a boiling point. This place of fear had begun to rub at the already fraying edges of all their civility. Ambrose would raise his shield in the Hero’s defense still, but she kept defending people who would rather kill her, who used blood magic for stupid ass reasons. And Lyllie…well she always had a short temper. 

“I am sorry if I disappoint you.” The spirit said. Then a bright light began to emanate from within the spirit’s body. Soon it engulfed it, it resuming its true form. Banal winced, squeezing his all-too sensitive eyes closed. 

“Frankly, I don’t care if you are the spirit of song and dance.” He hissed. “You’ve helped get us this far quickly and I’d rather leave the Fade sooner than later.” 

Ambrose frowned. “True, but the Divine perished at the Temple thanks to the Wardens. That much we know.” 

“And you know better than anyone how Corypheus can get inside our heads and make us turn. Anders was there with you.” Tabris’s glare could’ve dropped an ogre from the amount of anger in it. “Moreover, **Champion** ” She said the word with a sneer, “this entire conversation can be saved once we’re out of this hell hole.” 

“Yes, and back to Adamant, where the Inquisitor’s forces battle an army of demons raised **by the Grey Wardens**.” 

“Get off your high horse, will ya? I’d like to see you beat an entire hoard with your oh-so-mighty moral compass.” Lyllie hissed as she walked up to the much larger man just so she could glare right in his face. The Blight didn’t give two shits about if something was ethical or legal. 

The squealing song returned behind Banal’s ears. This time it radiated from his two companions. His eyes darted back and forth. Where fear was a crescendo, anger was a cadence. Like a battle song to keep the army in step. His heart quickly matched its pace. 

Solas’s eyes darted over to the Inquisitor, black trickled further into his left eye. “I believe we are only agitating the Inquisitor more.” He warned quietly. The two stopped and looked over at the elf. The Anchor was lighting up now, like it would before the shadow came. He was watching them as a caged predator would. 

Tabris flexed her jaw. That not-Taint feeling was getting stronger now. “Right. Let’s not piss off the one elf who can get us out of here, eh?” She glared at Hawke, letting him know she wouldn’t be dropping this once they were out. 

“Agreed.” Ambrose choked out. 

“Well, bravo, bravo.” A strange voice echoed around them accompanied by the sound of clapping. Banal’s body went rigid. The storm was here. “You managed to choke down your pride. Impressive indeed.” The voice now came from one of the canyon walls, its accent eerily similar to Banal’s. 

Their eyes drifted up, finding…another elf? It was in question because black halla horns came from his temples like a Qunari and a spade-tipped tail flicked lazily beside his legs that dangled over the side of the rock. Well the horns were really like shadows of horns and the tail was a shadow of a tail, not having a real mass. From where the party stood, they could only tell his hair was black as night and he was smirking. 

Solas’s heart skipped a beat. Banal slowly turned around to face the other man. The man slid himself off the wall. The ground shattered upon his impact, but he stood up like it was just a small fall. He was now close enough for them to see fangs in his smirk. 

And that he had the exact same eyes as Banal. Green with red around the slitted pupils. The whites were blacks and he had strange markings over his skin. They glittered and flashed like lightning through water. His shoulder length hair looked to be silky soft. Armor not unlike what Dalish scouts and thieves wore adorned him. Wind created a dust flurry around his feet, little flashes of lightning dancing here and there like a storm cloud. 

“What strange company you surround yourself with, Mahviiral.” The strange elf…spirit…thing purred as he sauntered closer. The Divine spirit shuddered. There was a great darkness inside this being, a Void. Rather than that Void balancing, creating, his Void destroyed, tore at everything. It was painful for any spirit to be around. It shivered again as the man came closer still. Finally it could stand it no longer and it vanished, leaving the party alone with the stranger. 

“Ah, that’s better. I do hate those spirits. Always so…” The man struggled for a word. “Preachy? Nosy?” Finally he just shook his head. Sparks flew from the lightning buzzing up his horns. “Anyway they are annoying.” He stopped a few feet from Banal. Who was staring in confusion at the man. 

Banal…looked a lot like him. His companions looked from him to the demon elf and back to their Inquisitor. He looked **a lot** like him. 

“What are you?” Banal muttered under his breath. This was the Fade, so it was quite possible this was nothing more than another illusion. Or just another spirit morphing itself into Banal’s own personal hell-keeper. But this man…he seemed too real. Too tangible. The wind around him was real, it charged the air, ate at the magic. So was the smell of grass that he exuded. 

The man pouted. “You mean you don’t remember me, Mahviiral?” He asked like a child, batting long eyelashes. 

Banal furrowed his eyebrows at the name. “I don’t remember anyone by that name.” 

The stranger rolled his eyes, “It’s not my name.” He studied the Inquisitor, tilting his head to the side, eyes bouncing back and forth. As though he thought Banal was lying. A sigh escaped his lips as he only found confusion in the mix matched eyes. “Oh dear, you really don’t remember your own father?” 

Dorian and Varric’s eyebrows went into the sky before they shared a look of complete shock. What now? Father? Banal’s father…was a spirit? Demon? Whatever it was that stood before them? 

Banal, however, was the most shocked. He had no memory of parents, and he’d assume he’d at least remember having a demon for a father. No not demon…His magic felt something similar inside the man. He wasn’t a spirit, just as Banal wasn’t. Nor was he possessed. What he was was still a mystery, but he was neither of those things. 

“Now, that’s really quite upsetting.” The man’s tone was mock-hurt. “I wonder just what else you’ve forgotten.” His eyes flicked up and down Banal’s body, “Quite a bit if you’re still wandering in that form.” 

“What are you talking about?” the Inquisitor hissed. All his muscles were frozen in place. His mind knew to run, but his body wouldn’t obey. Whatever this person was, it wasn’t good. A tiny prickle invaded his head. Banal shoved it out, throwing up the strongest walls he could muster. 

The man only began laughing. “Your little prince did a fine job keeping you from yourself, didn’t he?” He squinted a bit, “And he managed to retie what I broke…Oh well, I suppose it is for the best that the Nightmare told me of your coming then. I’ll have to thank the little spider before I pluck out its eyes.” 

Suddenly the air became very charged. The hair on their arms and necks stood on end. Lightning sparked off the stranger’s horns loudly. He shifted to his right hip as his eyes fell on Banal’s white streak. It seemed overly bright in the gloom of the Fade. 

The man tsked his tongue. “You let the white invade your heart again, silly child. You should’ve learned by now that is not who you are.” 

“What are you talking about?” Banal growled. His head was starting to pound the same way it did when Cole was rooting around inside it. Only this wasn’t because of a gentle prodding. The man might as well have taken a rake through Banal’s skull, ripping and tearing up roots to get at what he wanted to look at. 

“Now what caused it this time?” The man ignored the Inquisitor. 

“Smiley, who the hell is this guy?” Varric asked. All of them were confused, some of them confused enough to not remember how to speak. Varric traded that confusion for annoyance. Seriously, who was this guy that could talk to Banal like he was some small child about a tiny scrape on his knee? 

Unfortunately for the dwarf, him speaking caused the man to take notice of him. His draconic eyes pinned Varric in place, shooting electricity up his spine. The man frowned. “It must have been these strange people, then.” He mused aloud. “I thought I had taught you that other people will only hurt you.” A sadistic grin came over his face. His eyes slid back to Banal. “Perhaps I didn’t beat it into you hard enough.” 

Faster than any of them could blink, the stranger’s fist collided with the side of Banal’s head. The force of it sent him spinning to the side. His body turned over once in the air before the man fade stepped towards him. 

Ribs cracked audibly as the Inquisitor’s chest was punt kicked. Water parted underneath him as he flew backwards into a rocky wall. His skull smacked hard enough for his vision to go completely white before he fell back into the water. 

The suddenness of the attack left all of the companions shocked. Not to mention it had only lasted maybe half of a minute. Hardly enough time for them to even ready their weapons let alone use them. 

Black surrounded the stranger, engulfing him. Magic shifted and moved, the **Fade** shifted and moved around him. Like he was ripping it apart. Then it and he disappeared. 

Everyone snapped out of their shock and looked around. The air still crackled with magic. It seemed to eat away the air. The mages of the group could feel something…sliding underneath the Fade. Literally. Imagine the Fade as a rug and a mouse was scurrying underneath it, that was what it almost felt like. 

Then a void of Fade ripped open near Banal. The Inquisitor was barely conscious enough to realize a tear in the Fade was forming in front of him. A black slit appeared, lightning sparking and spitting around it. It seemed to destroy the Fade, much like how Rifts destroyed the Veil. 

Out stepped the stranger, still with a bemused smirk on his face. This time though, the companions were ready. Varric and Tabris both shot an arrow at him while Dorian and Ambrose cast fire glyphs under his feet. Solas threw a barrier over Banal, knowing that there was very little they could do save annoy the man. 

The strange markings flashed black once, a strange shimmering cloak appearing right as the two arrows hit him. They ricocheted right off. The fire glyphs ignited in a bright explosion. The dust settled quickly, or rather was drawn into that storm around the stranger. He was glaring at them while he patted out a small flame on his surcoat. 

“Now that’s just rude.” He growled. “Mortals just have no manners anymore, it seems. In my time, a father could discipline his child without strangers attacking him.” He frowned with a sigh. “You just made this that much harder for him.” 

Without even raising a hand, a shockwave pulsed out of him. It slammed against the group. Their feet skidded a few paces back before it knocked them on their asses. As they groaned and tried to right themselves, the world spinning, the stranger bent down and tangled a clawed hand in Banal’s hair. 

He lifted the Inquisitor up. Banal hissed, trying not to scream like he wanted to as pain lit up his skull. He tried to claw at the hand, his feet barely brushing the ground. The stranger snorted, smile returning. Lightning coursed through the water he was standing in. It struck the companion’s, paralyzing them. 

“ _My how far you’ve fallen, ma da’banal._ ” He cooed. It was sad and pitiful that his son had come to rely on others to protect himself. Those “allies” didn’t even know what they had allied with! But he’d show them all just what their “Inquisitor” truly was, and they’d turn their backs on him just as everyone always did. 

Banal bit down on the curse he wanted to growl. Or choked down. The hands were beginning to claw their way back up his body. The coldness was fighting the warmth. He struggled to remain conscious, fearing what would happen if he passed out. He could very well injure his companions while he killed the stranger. He pushed the darkness away. The stranger gave one last look at the companions before he began dragging Banal by the hair. Banal tried to keep his feet working, but a rogue lightning bolt from the storm cloud shot into his leg. Pain burned up his body. Black danced around his vision. His knees buckled. 

The stranger barely even noticed he had fallen and was now dead weight. He kept on the pathway. Rocks bit and tore at the Inquisitor’s legs before they began walking through water. The stranger flicked his wrist over his shoulder, in dismissal of the companions. 

A barrier, black and purple, spanned the path. The two beings beyond it quickly disappeared around the corner. Frost began to coat the water. 

All of them began to panic, quickly getting to their feet as the lightning disappeared. None of them were really sure what the hell just happened other than some freaky ass elf demon just sudden appeared and kicked Banal’s ass. Was that even possible? Could Banal get his ass handed to him so easily? Or was this a trick of the Fade? Whatever it was, they needed to get Banal back. 

“Well…look on the bright side of things…” Varric panted as they began running for the barrier. 

Nearly everyone in the party frowned at the dwarf, but it was Ambrose who spoke. “Varric, you know I love you old friend, but it may have escaped your notice that we are currently physically in the Fade, there is something wrong with the Inquisitor that may or may not have something to do with him being a demon, and oh yeah some freaky ass demon, who may or may not be the Inquisitor’s father, just punted him across the realm!” He stopped only to take a breath. The entire party slowed as they got to the barrier. They all looked up at it, weary of the Fade and its tricks. “So what pray tell is the bright side of all this?” 

The dwarf didn’t even miss a beat. “At least the Seeker and Iron Lady aren’t here right now.” Everyone paused, eyebrows going up as that revelation dawned on them. If even one of them were here right that moment, Banal would’ve had his head cut off probably. Or been made Tranquil. Solas knew that possibility to be futile of course, but they’d try it nonetheless. 

“True, we should be thankful it was us who fell in rather than…well pretty much everyone else.” Dorian gave. Bull would’ve probably flipped. Sera would’ve shot Banal. Blackwall…well the Warden might not have done anything too drastic as he had been at Crestwood. But he probably would’ve left, not being able to trust their leader or something. Cole…would be Cole still, but who knows what being in the Fade would do to him. 

“See? Silver lining.” 

Lyllie frowned as Solas and Dorian began to break down the obstacle. “Yeah well, you can take your silver lining and shove it up a dragon’s ass right now. I’d have preferred to not be here.” 

“Pretty sure none of us had ‘enter the Fade physically’ on our bucket lists, Tiger.” Varric quipped. The Warden Commander could only snort as the barrier popped. They could hear the sounds of a battle echoing around the stones. Or rather they could hear little pings and wet thunks coming from somewhere ahead of them. 

And from the amount of blood soaking into the sand…it didn’t seem that Banal was the one doing them. 

“Smiley if you die…” Varric grumbled under his breath as they began to run. 

Dorian was thinking nearly the same thing. Only his was a string of Tevene curses, invoking any and every deity, demon, and spirit the Altus could think of and a few he probably made up. He was simultaneously cursing the elf and praying for the elf to be okay. Mostly he just kept thinking that they hadn’t…fixed things, made up, whatever you wanted to call it. And there was no possible way he was going to let the elf die before that happened. Banal wasn’t going to get out of this that easy. 

They rounded a corner. 

Only to find demons. Paralyzed demons. Black lightning ran up and down their forms. They didn’t twitch; they didn’t move. It was as though the lightning kept them in a state of suspended animation. 

It was creepy whatever it truly was. They all kept looking around as they picked their way through the statues. 

“Okay so I thought the Broodmother was freaky as hell, but of course there’s something freakier in the Fade.” Lyllie’s voice waivered as she saw a few of the demons’ eyes follow them. 

“So do any of you mages know what the hell that guy…thing was?” Varric asked quietly. 

“It definitely wasn’t any kind of demon or spirit that I know of,” Ambrose shook his head. 

“He kinda reminded me of one of those halla things…only Blighted.” Tabris commented absently. “Felt Blighted too…sorta.” 

“You mean a spirit can have the Taint?” That wasn’t what anyone wanted to hear. 

She shook her head, pushing a few stray strands of orange back behind her ear. “No. Kinda. It felt like the Blight…but not. Something older, different…Like your Inquisitor.” 

“Chuckles, Sparkler? You two are the ones who studied this shit. Any of this makes sense?” Varric looked hopefully at them. After all, the scariest thing about all this was that they didn’t know what was going on. 

Dorian frowned. It seemed to him that he had come across this somewhere in his studies. Some vague and obscure tome no doubt. But for the life of him he couldn’t quite recall it or what it said. 

Solas wet his lips in thought. There was no way anyone would believe him if he said that wasn’t a demon or spirit but an actual person with…unique circumstances. Nor would they believe him if he said it was a Corruption Spirit. They were supposed to be things of legends, fairy tales, the boogey men of the Fade. 

Sadly, it was that way of thinking that often led people astray. 

***** 

Another barrier later and they had followed the sound of splashes down into a cove-like area. Water was everywhere. Varric was pretty sure it came from Crestwood; it stuck to his boots just like that Ferelden muck did. Demons were scattering everywhere, scurrying up the walls or popping out of existence. Like they were frightened. Imagine that. Demons of Terror, Fearlings frightened. 

Oh and there was a lot of blood too. 

Blood swirled in the water; it smeared the stones; it stained the sand. Bits and pieces of armor floated about as they followed the blood deeper into the cove. There was a loud splashing sound as they ran passed a desk. 

Before one of those Eluvian things (broken and, of course, splattered with blood) stood the demon-elf. Gore covered him, particularly his hands. And he looked bored as he said something in elvish. 

And where was the Inquisitor? Underneath his foot, face down in the water. Red was spilling out of him. But even still his hands alternated between pushing at the ground, trying to lift his face out of the water, and clawing at the foot placed firmly on his neck. His thrashing made the red waters turn to froth. 

For a split second, it was hard to comprehend that something could so easily best Banal. But then again, Banal wasn’t at full strength. Even still it shook the companions to see him struggle. 

The demon-elf lifted his foot. Banal shot up, coughing and spluttering. His breaths sounded wet as his chest labored to take in air. They weren’t sure if the red water he was spitting out was because of blood in his lungs or the blood in the water. Not that it mattered much. The demon-elf shoved his foot back down like he was some sort of torture master. 

Surprisingly, Solas was the first to snap out of his shock and attack. A rock fist rocketed towards the demon-elf. He looked up at the group. Only to have a ton of rocks slam into his chest. He flew backwards through the mirror. Magic wisps scattered everywhere before being drawn into the Mark. Banal had enough consciousness to push himself up and to the side. 

“Barbarian.” Hissed around them. Black surrounded the demon-elf as he stood up with a nasty glare. He cracked his neck once like he kinked it. “You’re going to regret that.” Of that, Solas had no doubt. But it was better than watching the man torture the Inquisitor. 

Rather than respond, Solas began to tweak the Fade, pulling and weaving pieces together to create a Veil around the demon-elf. He looked around with a frown like he could sense it cutting off his magic. The horns and tail flickered, dimming for a moment. 

“Oh that’s a neat trick.” A smirk broke his face. Ambrose threw a fireball just to get him to shut up. Seriously this was a fight and he was acting like they were playing a game. 

“R-run you idiots.” Banal managed to splutter. Their eyes flickered to him for a brief second. His armor was torn to pieces, gashes and rips showing bleeding claw marks across his chest and side. A slash on his leg and a thin line across the bridge of his nose (reopening his scar) seemed to be made by a dagger rather than claws. He looked like hell going through hell. 

He was pretty sure he had broken another rib, or shoved something into his lung. It felt like he was breathing only water. Mud pressed into the gashes on his left side, hiding the claw marks on his neck and cheek. 

But he felt none of those injuries. The world was far away, he drifting somewhere. It was cold, but the cold kept everything away. He could see the blurred image of his companions trying to fight against the thing that attacked him. Varric fired off Bianca. Hawke cast a barrier as the demon stepped over Banal towards them. Lyllie sliced her wrists and let black blood coat her blades. Dorian wove a Static Cage while Solas littered the ground with ice glyphs. 

_Your friends are very stubborn, ma vhenin_ sounded through Banal’s head. It echoed from that connection that radiated warmth. But even that was far away now. He heard someone chuckle. 

_Hey now, I didn’t come all this way just to have you die on me_. Banal blinked as the voice became clearer. Power surged through the connection, fiery and wild as a forest fire during a dry summer. Banal took a shuddering breath. 

Fuck, it hurt. He had definitely broken a rib and punctured a lung. He tried to cough, but only managed a gurgle as he spit out blood. His hands balled into fists. His body tried move, to curl in on itself, but his torso hurt like he had been dissected. 

A loud whistle sounded through the air, grabbing everyone’s attention. The demon-elf frowned but focused back on the small party. Varric pressed a hand against his shoulder. Blood pulsed between his gloved fingers from where the demon had thrown a dagger into it. It wasn’t poisoned at least. 

“Sulendys!” caught the demon’s attention. His head snapped to the right. A bright light forced them all to shield their eyes. The hefty clunk of armor meeting flesh filled the air. A small shockwave pushed against them, water spraying all around. 

Opening their eyes, another elf stood before them. Tall, tan, short pale blond hair styled in a warrior’s ponytail, the elf smirked after the demon. His armor was similar to Tahon’s, only gold with a dark blue surcoat. Flames and suns decorated the plates in elaborate designs. A griffon emblazoned his shield, blade-like wings fanning around the edges. An elven circlet rested upon his brow, above aquamarine eyes. 

Solas’s breath caught as the elf sheathed his axe upon his hip, an iridescent fabric tied around his bicep. So the barriers had broken after all. 

The newcomer didn’t even glance at the confused mortals. Instead he turned towards Banal. He fade stepped to the Inquisitor. His magic kept him hidden from the dark elf. All he would see would be another spirit. It was kinder that way. 

He knelt, pushing the elf over gently. Another soothing wave pulsed through Banal’s body, easing his breathing. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment before opening again. The connection was blindly strong now. It radiated from the being in front of him. 

But he had done no binding with a spirit before. And even then they would not have this sort of connection through a binding or even a possession. He would not be so…keenly aware of the other’s presence, like a piece of him was returned. 

He squinted, trying to see passed the light. He was sure he could. Pain stabbed his eyes, the image blurring even as healing magic poured into him. A bit of darkness, the shadow’s power, crept into his vision. It cleared the magic away some. 

All he got was a blurred image of gold armor and a strange earring. A sharp twinge smacked his brain, something hitting the barrier. 

He had seen that earring before. 

***** 

“Champion, if you would,” Solas asked as he stepped closer to the Inquisitor and their “guest”. The gold armored elf barely noticed them as he coaxed Banal down. His presence strengthened the dark elf, letting him leech off his power. Such was the power of _nas’falon_. 

The party shared a look. Now was this a friendly spirit? Or another crazy one? But their resident Fade-expert seemed to trust it (after all there was no way someone could actually survive in the Fade, so it had to be a spirit imitating an elf), so Ambrose took a few steps forward. 

The elf’s ears flicked back and that was all the warning they got. An axe whipped out of its holding. A hand tangled in Solas’s shirt. In a whirl of motion, an axe blade pressed against Solas’s throat. A look of pure hatred burned into the Dread Wolf. 

“ _Good to see you too…_ ” Solas whispered, eyes defiant, “ _Elgar’nan._ ” 

Elgar’nan snorted in response, free hand tightening its grip on Solas’s shirt. His ugly shirt, he might add. Seriously, one era he’s a god and the next he’s a hobo. Of course, the Sun King doubted the Dread Wolf didn’t have something up his sleeve. 

The other party members drew their weapons. But Solas held up a hand to calm them. They watched warily. “ _Ah, yes, I’ve been waiting for this reunion,_ ” Elgar’nan’s eyes flickered briefly to the other mortals. A thought casted a repulsion barrier around him, bending the very Fade to his will. “ _My axe has missed you terribly_ ”. 

The Dread Wolf frowned at his lust for battle. “ _I’m sure it has, but in case you hadn’t noticed, we have a dying man on our hands,_ ” He motioned to Banal with his eyes. The Inquisitor didn’t even seem to be particularly conscious at that point, eyes half-lidded. A string of magic joined Elgar’nan to the Forgotten One, black turning to fire as it got closer to him. 

The former king shrugged. “ _I don’t know, I think he’s doing just fine._ ” He hadn’t turned after all. And he knew enough healing magic to stave off Mahviiral bleeding to death. 

Solas could only sigh. “ _He’s bleeding out. And whatever your personal feelings towards him, the world needs him._ ” He tried to will the man into being rational. Not that he was ever really rational. Ruled by his emotions and whims was what Elgar’nan’s mother always said about her son. He had a good heart, but lacked enough sense to think things through. “ _Please let me heal him--_ ” 

“ _Kill him you mean._ ” Elgar’nan growled, moving his axe closer. He knew the Dread Wolf had wished the Veil torn down, watched the plan almost come to fruition. And now the only person standing in his way was Mahviiral, or Banal as he was now called. What better way to cover up the Inquisitor’s death than trying to heal him? The mortals probably wouldn’t even think twice about it. 

Solas gave him a questioning glare. There was much hatred and spite in those words, anger. The former Sun King had waged war upon the Forgotten Ones, been the one who had slit Banal’s throat…yet here he was, acting as though he had never broken their bond. 

“ _Need I remind you that you’ve already killed him once before?_ ” 

Elgar’nan gave a bitter smile, a choked laugh. “ _Is that what you think happened?_ ” Solas blinked, hearing a hidden meaning beneath the words. But the man’s face remained a mask of hatred directed only at him. “What are you doing here?” he hissed in the common tongue, giving Solas another pause. How long had the barriers been down if Elgar’nan could speak this age’s language. 

“What are **you** doing here?” Tabris grumbled, a slight tremor in her voice. She was so tired of the fucking Fade. Dorian was sure they’d all look back at this with wonder and amazement…eventually…and with the help of a lot of alcohol. 

“Saving your mortal asses.” He turned to frown and glare at the group. “Seriously, weren’t you ever taught not to hit a sleeping dragon?” The purple around his iris flashed dangerously like lightning before he turned his attention back to his captive. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” 

Solas swallowed. The blade cut his throat a bit. He knew better than to say this was all an accident. Elgar’nan probably would think it a lie and Solas was just planning to shove Banal in the fade all along or something. So he dodged the question. “ _As much as I’m sure you’d love for him to die again—_ “ 

“ _Of the people here, there are only two I wish to kill. One I’ve kicked halfway across this plane. The second is one dodge away from my axe slitting his scheming throat._ ” He pressed into that tiny cut, widening it. 

“ _I am the only one capable of healing him_ ” Solas threatened. After all, how could Elgar’nan know about Lotus or An’nas? Sure there was Ambrose and Dorian, but humans wouldn’t be capable of healing that much trauma. 

The king only snorted. “ _Hardly. I can keep him alive long enough to reach the Tear. And there’s at least three on the Otherside who could and would heal him._ ” He smirked arrogantly like ‘you’re turn, bitch’. 

Solas frowned. He was missing something. Something very important. “ _How did you—_ “ 

“ _I am not blind, Wolf. I haven’t been for nearly five thousand years. You were the ones who were blind._ ” He laughed bitterly again. He had fooled the Dread Wolf this long. He deserved a medal or something. 

“ _Are you two quite through having your reunion?_ ” 

Elgar’nan threw his head back with a growl. Some people just didn’t know when to go die. He shot one last glare at Solas, shoving him back before turning around. Sulendys dusted himself off as he walked. The water zipped and sizzled with lightning around him. “If he dies, Wolf, I’ll make sure you follow.” Elgar’nan threatened before stepping forwards. 

His eyes glanced down at Mahviiral. His breathing was less labored as he drifted closer to sleep. But as he stepped over him, those bright eyes opened. They followed him, like they were trying to decipher what they saw. The left eye held no white, the right only had a small fraction left. 

_Just hold on a little while longer, I’ll deal with your daddy issues_ He joked through their connection. 

“ _I suppose I should’ve expected you to come, da’ha’raj. The Sun never strays too far from his Shadow…_ ” Sulendys scratched his cheek absently before shrugging, coming to an agreement with himself. “Nothing to it I suppose. Kill two birds with one stone and all that.” Elgar’nan frowned at the notion he could be killed easily. “ _Maybe with you gone, he’ll finally give up being…that._ ” Sulendys motioned towards Banal’s state with a disgusted look. 

Elgar’nan didn’t miss a beat. “ _I don’t know I rather like him like that._ ” 

“ _What? Lying on the ground? Yes I’m well aware you like him in that position._ ” The corrupted elf rolled his eyes. 

“ _Oh is that a hint of disapproval that I detect?_ ” Elgar’nan mocked, “ _Do I not have Papae’s approval to sleep with his son? Here let me…_ ” The man began to pat himself down as though searching for something. Then he seemed to realize something. “ _Oh wait that’s right! I don’t have any fucks to give you!_ ” 

Solas sighed loudly as he and Ambrose went to the Inquisitor’s side and began weaving healing spells over top Elgar’nan’s. A thousand years and he still had his smart mouth and immaturity. The former king could only grin as Sulendys seemed content to continue the pissing match. 

“ _As I remember you gave those out like candy._ ” 

“ _Hmm, only to your son._ ” 

“ _Ah yes, talk of the entire court, your explicit affair with the court assassin was. Now, tell me how did that work out again?_ ” Sulendys tapped his chin. “ _Oh that’s right you slitting his throat. Forgive a father for not wanting to see his son follow the same path twice._ ” 

Elgar’nan’s smile dropped at the barb. What that man knew about being a father could barely fill a thimble. “ _Obviously I’m very terrible at killing him._ ” He motioned to the rise and fall of the Inquisitor’s chest. “ _Whereas you are quite adept at torturing him. Forgive a man for wishing to protect his nas’falon._ ” 

“ _Protect! You could hardly protect your empire let alone your nas’falon!_ ” Sulendys laughed mockingly. 

“ _Who’s dungeon were you kept in for nearly five centuries, again? Oh wait, it was mine. Of course you did manage to best…no that was me again. You still have that scar don’t you?_ ” 

Sulendys ran his tongue over his teeth, tail flicking back and forth. “ _Are we just going to trade insults until he bleeds out?_ ” 

“ _What? Afraid you can’t keep up anymore, old man? Shall I fetch you a walking stick that you may attempt to chase me out of your lawn?_ ” Elgar’nan smiled in a patronizing manner. 

“ _Can we please skip to the part where I rip out your throat thanks._ ” 

“ _Oh here, let me look at my schedule…I seem to be free between the week of ‘In Your Dreams’ and the week of ‘Go Fuck Yourself’._ ” 

Sulendys hardly flinched, just blew his breath out of his nose. “ _I tend not to do such things in public, if you don’t mind._ ” 

“ _The spirits be praised! No one wants to see that wrinkly dick of yours. It’d be sheer—_ “ The corrupted elf’s visage morphed into something savage, like his patience had finally worn out. The next second he flitted forward. Elgar’nan lifted his shield just in time to deflect Sulendys’s dagger. The force of the blow produced a shockwave of air. “ _Oh did I touch a nerve?_ ” He shoved his opponent back. 

The corrupted elf snorted like a halla, his bestial side coming to the front as he jumped back. Elgar’nan only rolled his neck and shoulders, shaking his axe arm. It had been awhile since he had done serious battle. He could only hope a thousand or so years hadn’t made him too rusty. 

He kept his shield in front of him as he walked forward. From what he could remember, Sulendys liked to jump around, like halla. Elgar’nan hated opponents like that. Just stay in one area with no flips or weird acrobatics, would you? 

He blocked another swipe. His axe cut through the air in an upper cut. Sulendys danced backwards before flicking out another of his wickedly curved daggers. He flipped them in his hand as he jumped into the air. Elgar’nan rolled out of the way. A crater formed from the corrupted elf’s impact. 

Lightning and fire flew around the battlefield. Axe and dagger clashed in loud pings. It was rather hard to concentrate on healing with the heavy weight of magic around them. Dorian gritted his teeth as he worked his simple healing spell on Varric’s shoulder. He tried not to think of the Inquisitor laying five feet behind him in a bloody mess. 

Varric, however, watched as Hawke and Solas worked their magic. The gentle fiery glow around Banal intensified as more magic bled into it, but none of the wounds were closing. He was worried, and not just because he was the Inquisitor aka their only hope. He was his friend, his very prickly friend. 

“Any progress?” Dorian asked quietly. He didn’t want to turn around and look for himself. He already had enough nightmare fuel. He didn’t need to add seeing his boyfriend beaten within an inch of his life to the fire. He meant, his ex-boyfriend…oh who the fuck was he kidding? The elf was his boyfriend even if he was being stupid and forgetting he had placed all privileges of ending things with Dorian. Something the Altus was going to be sure to remind him of if they survived. After he was done yelling at him for giving him a heart attack of course. 

The dwarf’s eyes flickered up to the Tevinter. Worry and fear swirled around in his expression. “Not sure really. He doesn’t seem to be in pain, but none of his injuries are closing.” 

Dorian almost turned his head to look, but thought better of it. He added, smacking the Inquisitor and kissing him senseless, to the list of things to do if they survive. He looked at the fight. Their spirit ally had lost his shield and was now having to parry the demon’s attacks. 

“He…it…whatever is one heck of a fighter,” Lyllie whispered from her place in front of the group. She stood with her arms crossed, old bandages wrapped around her wrists to stop the bleeding. She had refused healing, opting instead to stand guard in case the two elf things got too battle-crazy. 

Solas turned his head to watch as Elgar’nan created a tower of fire. Sulendys jumped out of its center, thick black smoke trailing behind his super-human leap. While both of them knew, he couldn’t kill the corrupted elf outright. It had taken poison and an axe to the throat to kill Banal after all. And Banal was weaker compared to Sulendys. But Elgar’nan was holding his own. 

For the moment. 

And the more Elgar’nan focused on the fight, the less he could focus on keeping Banal stable. Keeping Banal stable should’ve been the priority. Solas didn’t place any trust in the other side of the Inquisitor; it was more akin to a starved and wild animal than a person with thoughts inside its head. 

Alas, the former king had to defend himself, which meant magic. Speaking of defending himself, Solas watched as Elgar’nan feinted left before forming a magic shield for a split second and bashing it into Sulendys’s face. The corrupted elf staggered. The axe cleaved into his shoulder. But he barely noticed the blood spilling over his chest. 

Sulendys took one step back. His muscles coiled, tightened like springs. His tail flicked angrily. Lightning sparked of his horns. 

In a single fluid motion, he shoved Elgar’nan back into the cliff. The same second he Void-stepped forward. His forearm shoved against the windpipe of the younger elf, lifting him up about a foot. 

“ _Who’s going to save you this time, da’ha’raj?_ ” Sulendys purred as the warrior tried to push him away. “ _All your little armies are gone. Your sister has lost her mind. Your child hates you and your wife is dead. Your entire empire is gone. So what do you have left?_ ” 

Dammit, the demonspawn had a point. A point Elgar’nan had already made to himself. Literally everything he had ever been was gone, destroyed. And partially because of his own mistakes. Funny how that worked. 

He felt eyes staring into him. He glanced quickly over top Sulendys’s head. Mahviiral had managed to turn his head to keep him in his sights. Not everything was lost, Elgar’nan gave himself. He just had to think of things a bit differently. 

Yeah, he’d change the whole Mythal being murdered by Andruil thing, and he’d probably redo the entire part with Mahviiral, but he couldn’t. But he had ensured Mahviiral survived, had he not? 

The other Enuvaris would tell you never to trust someone with a spirit in their blood. They’d compare them to wild animals. But Elgar’nan was hardly one of them. Mahviiral had always been different than the others in his line, and he trusted that twisted elf with his life (strange to say that after they had nearly killed one another). Perhaps it was time to put that trust to the test. And perhaps it was time to let things go, let them return to normal. That blasted compassion spirit had certainly been nosing around too much, so perhaps this would help. 

He locked eyes with Mahviiral. 

_Ir abelas, ma vhenin._ He told him. 

Then he shattered his barrier. 

***** 

A thunderclap sounded in Banal’s skull. Mentally he could see, feel that barrier crack open at the same time. Dark hands shot out of the crevasse. They clawed and tore at his mind. They tore away his scream. They dragged him into the barrier, rippling like water. 

Black engulfed him. 

***** 

Then a light came. It leaked out of the barrier like a stream long frozen by winter suddenly thawing out. It brought memories, them settling like silt. Most of it was still a jumbled up mess, probably do to the barrier just starting to break down. But he caught glimpses, things fitting into holes he didn’t know he had. 

***** 

_”Where are we going?” Banal asked. His companion’s hands covered his eyes from behind. Their bodies pressed against each other as the other guided him up a small incline._

 _A laugh tickled the back of his ears. “Hold your halla, impatient one.”_

 _

Banal huffed. They had other things to do. Yet he wanted to go gallivanting around the countryside? Sometimes it amazed him that the other would be king. He acted like a child. 

Before Banal could offer a rebuttal, the other removed his hands. “Ta-dah!” Arms wrapped around his waist, a chin resting upon his shoulder. Banal cocked his head to the side. 

A weeping crystal willow stood alone on top of the small hill. Its twisted, old white bark glittered in the afternoon sun. The snowy leaves sparkled with blues and greens as they swayed in the breeze. Outside of Banal’han, crystal willows were rare. It was said they grew from gems of weeping widows whose tears soaked into the jewel. 

Nonsense of course. They grew from a seed like any other plant. It was just that most places didn’t have enough moisture or the right soil for them to grow. 

“It’s a tree.” Banal stated after he got the sense he was supposed to say something. 

“Oh wow, really?!” The other mocked. “Well thanks for clearing that up, all I wanted to know was that really was a tree.” 

Banal snorted with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t get smart.” He glared down at him from the corner of his eyes. “Is there a particular reason why you brought me here?” The other one slid around him, keeping a hand on his back. He pushed him forward. 

“Do you know what today is?” He asked, a mischievous smile gracing his tan face. The sunlight caught in the circlet upon his head. It played in his pale blond hair. 

“Aside from the day you decided you wanted to show me a tree?” 

His sarcasm earned him a kiss on his cheek and a laugh he never grew tired of hearing. “Sorta.” The prince let go of him and walked in front. He turned on his heel. “We met exactly one hundred and fifty years ago today.” 

Banal blinked. Had it really been that long? It seemed so much shorter in his mind. Where did all the time go? He returned his smile but shook his head. “And?” 

Turquoise eyes darted to the side for a moment. He picked his words carefully. “And I wanted to mark the occasion?” 

Banal cocked an eyebrow. He crossed his arms as he stared at the prince suspiciously. “Uh-huh, with a tree?” He snorted. “You’re up to something. What is it?” He sighed loudly. Their connection allowed him to sense the other was nervous, but not much else. The prince was hiding his mind from him. Even Banal’s magic didn’t allow him to see into his heart. 

The prince looked shocked as he placed a hand delicately over his heart. “Why I’ve never…How dare you speak to your prince that way!” He mocked with false dignity. He actually was doing a fairly good impression of his mother. “I have never been so insulted in my **life**!” 

Banal chuckled with a roll of his eyes. “You’re friends with Solas and your sister is Andruil, somehow I doubt that.” 

“Eh, you have a point there.” The prince shrugged with a smile. He sat down beneath the tree, leaning against its trunk. He opened his arms in invitation. 

“Not until you tell me what you are up to.” 

“Silly vhenin, is it wrong of me just to want to spend time with you outside of the court?” He gave smoothly. Banal stood there, eyeing the lying elf for a few more moments. He supposed that’s all it could be. But…suddenly Banal felt guilty. His stomach twisted. The dark mark on his left palm itched. 

“There are plenty of other things you should be doing right now.” He grumbled. The prince only laughed, which just made the feeling worse. Seriously the man would become Sun King someday, his wife was pregnant with his first born, and he was off with the court assassin! It didn’t matter that they were nas’falon, Banal was lower-born, and cursed to boot! Not that anyone knew what lurked in his veins. 

“And none of those things I want to do.” 

“That doesn’t—“ 

“I know you don’t like the court and I can’t exactly spend a lot of time with you, but I figured one day wouldn’t kill them to do without me.” The prince reached for him. “Besides Mythal was the one who suggested this. She can handle the idiots at court.” 

Banal only frowned as he stepped forward. He let himself be pulled down and moved so he sat between the prince’s legs, back against his chest. “I find it hard to believe she would condone you running off with me when—“ 

A kiss to the tip of his ear stopped his words. A little nip kept him from continuing. “She probably wanted to get rid of me for the day. I’m just as nervous as you are about her. Probably more so. What do I know about being father?” He chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ve probably been hovering is why she told me to take the day with you.” 

Banal leaned back, forcing himself to relax. The man was nervous about more than his impending child. So there was more to it than that. But…the view from here was pretty. Arlathan looked like a jewel from here. There was the fiery reds of the guards’ and smithing district. The greens and blues of the healers’ quarters. The purple and gold of the marketplace. All just sparkling in the sun. 

For a while, they just sat together, watching the world go by as though they were just spectators, not players. And Banal almost tricked himself into believing this was real. But he knew that some squire was going to come and fetch the prince for some ‘emergency’ his mother created… 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” sighed against the back of his neck. The old swamp charms in Banal’s ponytail clinked and clacked as a kiss was placed against his head. He only hummed affirmatively. The prince nuzzled and kissed at his neck until he tilted his head to allow more access. Slowly the kisses found their way up his neck, his jaw, and to his lips. 

Their tongues tangled for a brief moment before they parted. For a split second, the prince’s arms tightened around him as a small drop of fear invaded his heart. 

Banal frowned and turned to look at him. “Seriously, what’s wrong?” Assassination plot? Coupe d’état? What? He was ready as always to defend him (though the other didn’t like to think he needed defending, but there as only so much a public duel could do). 

When the prince did not respond, Banal moved so he was facing him, knees on either side of his hips. “What is wrong?” This time he demanded with narrowed eyes. 

“Nothing. Everything’s perfect.” He smiled even as Banal glared. “I just…I wanted to ask you…” The prince bit his lip, eyes darting to the side. The purple seemed more dominant when he did that. 

Banal’s fingers gently brushed his cheek, hand cupping his face. “Then ask. You know how I hate being kept in the dark.” The prince sighed out his hesitation. When he looked at Banal next, he was determined about something. 

Slowly he removed his circlet and set it beside them in the grass. “Change for me.” Well that was the total opposite of what Banal had expected to hear. He blinked dumbfoundly. 

“I beg pardon?” Banal cocked an eyebrow. The prince wrapped his arms around him, thumbs rubbing in between his shoulder blades. There his markings formed an outline, slowly fading to black as they neared the edge. There he could form wings made entirely out of magic, if he willed it. 

“Change for me.” He repeated. Banal suddenly understood, not that it made him feel any better. His left palm itched as he became once again aware of the ice hidden inside his veins. 

“Why?” What was the man’s fascination with that side of him? Like he didn’t care if that side could tear his face off without so much as a second thought if Banal lost control. It was like he loved courting Death. 

Rather than actually answering, he just rolled his eyes and smiled. “I want to make something very clear.” 

“Make what clear?” Banal sighed, hating their verbal battles. 

“Change and find out.” 

Banal glared for a few moments before sighing in defeat. The prince knew how to hide his thoughts and heart well. Just blare loud things like love or happiness and Banal’s magic couldn’t detect the subtler sounds of fear or anger. And that meant he couldn’t see their roots. And he couldn’t fix things if he couldn’t see their roots. So he gave in, closing his eyes. 

He delved into his blood, looking for that icy fire that connected him to the other side of the Veil that separated this world from the Void. His magic pulsed, reconnecting its thread. What always lurked in his blood slowly roused itself from slumber, like stretching a tense muscle. 

Black shot from his left palm and through his markings like water through dry canals. They pulsed, flashed once before flowing out three areas: his antlers, his wings, and his tail. The magic settled, the markings’ colors now less subtle, making them stand out more on his pale skin. 

Banal opened his eyes to watch his nails turn black and lengthen on the prince’s cheek. His fangs stabbed into his lip. The world seemed hyper-bright, everything more saturated. And everything gave off a song if he listened. 

He rolled his shoulders where magic gathered; his neck cracked a few times. He cocked an eyebrow in question, tail gently swishing back and forth in the air behind him. The prince, however, seemed content to just touch him. His hands were warm against Banal’s cool skin as they caressed his face. His thumbs brushed the base of the antlers, moving the magic, making them fade out and back in. Banal shivered like electricity shot through him. 

“It will never cease to amaze me when you do that.” The prince whispered with a smile. Banal rolled his eyes. 

“I’m glad to keep you entertained with my dark magic.” He grumbled sarcastically. The prince only laughed, cupping his face again. He pulled him forward into a soft kiss. A warmth trickled through his marks, letting him know without seeing the desire’s soft reddish pink glow coming from them. 

“Ar lath **ma** ” he whispered against his lips. Banal felt something press into his chest. He pulled back to find the prince holding a small pouch to him. Curious, Banal took and opened it. 

The soft ring velvet of the pouch held inside two…string of beads? It was rather hard to tell what they were. Carefully, as not to shred the bag and its contents, Banal plucked the things with two claws and laid them out on his palm. 

They were earrings made from thin beads of bone wrapped in silky threads. One had an iridescent white thread and the other was a deep royal blue. The white had little round beads made from moss agates and a little obsidian griffon near the end. The blue held strange black stones that flashed with streaks of blue and a little drakestone sun. The end of it held a black…tooth? Claw? 

Banal tilted his head and looked up at the prince. “They are gifts…” The prince’s face suddenly flushed red. He looked around nervously; more anxiety invaded his song. 

“For what?” 

“Well…I was hoping…you’d agree to…bond with me?” The prince looked like he was expecting to get hit or Banal to laugh. Banal just blinked stupidly at him, his head unable to comprehend what just happened. “And if not, then they’re gifts for you to forget I just asked that.” The prince quickly sputtered out. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Banal got out intelligently. “You…me?” He looked at him in confusion. Then back down at the earrings. His confusion addled mind could remember an old custom in the Banal’han of making gifts to mark betrothal of any sort. 

“No your evil twin.” The prince rolled his eyes. “Yes you, why not you?” 

Banal’s wings flexed, sprinkling snow down on the grass. He looked behind him at his tail resting against the prince’s leg. “Oh I don’t know, El—“ 

Before the memory could continue, dark hands shot up from a dark watery abyss. They ripped and tore him from the pleasant afternoon with the warm sun. He sank deeper into the darkness, cold water all around him. 

And he lost himself.

_

***** 

A thick blanket of magic covered the field. Everyone’s hairs on the back of their necks stood on end. The air seemed to grow colder by the second. Sulendys’s ears flickered back as he heard a familiar noise, the sound of the Mark sparking to life. Though this was a different Mark, but it functioned similarly. 

He dropped Elgar’nan and turned to watch as black bled from what the mortals called the Anchor. Solas took one look at the pure black light and knew to step back. He grabbed Hawke by his collar and dragged him back as well. 

“Well, shit…” Varric muttered as the black turned into the shadow and the shadow engulfed the Inquisitor’s body. Again. But on the plus side, the demon was going to get his shit rocked…and slammed…and possibly torn to bits. 

The ball of black quickly started to morph, conforming into a body. It sat up, then stood, though it was a little unbalanced. Then a pair of green eyes opened. The black absorbed into the Inquisitor’s body, strange markings being burned into his flesh before they faded. They shimmered and reflected light back as many different colors. 

They pulsed black once, shooting to his head and back. The black bled out into the world, forming antlers. Large griffon-like wings stretched out, snowy white but with several black feathers scattered about. A spindly shadow tail flicked into existence just as the black settled, the white streak disappearing from view. 

The Inquisitor rolled his neck. The few charms hanging off the antlers clinked. The light caught on a frosty spider web between two of his points. Ice crackled as it spread over the water in a large radius. Snow fell from the air around him. 

What was stranger (not that any of this wasn’t strange), was that his wounds did not bleed. In fact it appeared magic coated them, keeping the blood inside. It glittered like frost. It was hard to figure out what the extent of his injuries were aside from claw marks all over. But Banal didn’t seem to notice any of them. 

He didn’t seem to notice anything. 

He locked eyes with Sulendys. He kept that apathetic look, even as the other demon smiled. “Well, it’s about time,” Sulendys chortled. He took a few steps towards Banal. Then a tower of black flame engulfed him. Even from their distance, the group could feel how icy cold the fire was. It was a massive vortex of power, whipping the waters into icy spirals around it. 

Elgar’nan had thankfully realized what the Inquisitor was going to do, and managed to Fadestep forward to the group. A mere thought cast a large barrier over them, it flickered and shimmered like fire to drive away the Void’s icy bite. 

He straightened, the barrier growing steady under his hand. He felt disapproving eyes upon him and turned his head towards them. Solas frowned at him. “ _What, Fen?_ ” 

“ _A thousand years and you’re still the same loud mouthed jackass you were before_ ,” Solas shook his head in disbelief. The man was only a few years younger than Solas and yet he still behaved like he was but a fraction of their age. 

“ _Do I detect a hint of jealousy, my egotistical friend?_ ” The word friend was hissed with much venom and hate. “ _Do not worry, oh Prick-Sitting-Upon-His-High-Hart, you’ll get better at insults someday._ ” Elgar’nan smiled and then turned to continue watching Banal fight. 

The “Inquisitor” as he was now called, had changed now that Elgar’nan got to look. The usual things that changed, longer hair, more scars, etcetera. Falon’Din’s vallaslin pissed him off, of course. He still felt a terrible boiling in his blood whenever he thought of the two, his Shadow and the man he let into his home, sharing a bed, but he supposed he deserved it. But even that hadn’t changed. 

No what changed was that he tore, bit, and clawed like a demon. He was stronger, less afraid of Sulendys. He wasn’t lost. He wasn’t afraid of his other side. Of course…Elgar’nan doubted he was necessarily conscious of what was happening at the moment. Or he might have been running on pure instinct and adrenaline. Which was fine. Fear would only make him hesitate. Doubt would distract him. 

“ _You always were good at pissing people off._ ” Solas growled as he turned to watch the Inquisitor duck a claw swipe. A beat of his wings sent dust and debris flying into Sulendys’s eyes. Blood splashed around Banal’s claws as he dug them into the other’s cheek. 

“ _Who? Me?_ ” Elgar’nan said flippantly. “ _Whatever do you mean?_ ” He chuckled as the Dread Wolf sighed loudly. “ _If you recall, **friend** , you never could figure out how to beat me in our little pissing matches._” 

“ _No, I just have no interest in sleeping with you_.” Solas threw back. 

“ _Thank the spirits for small mercies at least._ ” 

As the two continued to trade barbs, Dorian and Varric shared a look. So Solas knew the friendly gold spirit warrior person…but it didn’t seem like they particularly liked each other. Interesting. Here they thought the man befriended spirits of all natures. Good to know both spirits and Solas had preferences. 

What was even more interesting was that the spirit seemed to have a personality. He…it didn’t seem to embody any one virtue or portray one emotion. Perhaps it was a warrior spirit? 

“ _…I regret ever letting you around him. You taught him your nasty habit of taunting._ ” Solas continued as both of them stared straight ahead. 

“ _Of course, Tahon learned how to be a smart ass from me. You wouldn’t quite make the cut._ ” Elgar’nan laughed. “ _Speaking of your son, how is he?_ ” He turned to the bald elf with a smirk on his face that said he already knew. “ _I was quite surprised that he bonded with Mahviir’s son…So doesn’t that make us in-laws?_ ” 

Solas frowned at the reminder. He hated the idea of being bound to his old friend in more ways than just friendship and comradery that had died a long time ago. Even when it was still alive, he hated the idea. There was just so much Elgar’nan he could stand at one time. 

But then the Sun King’s words caught up to him. Tahon and An’nas were bonded long after Elgar’nan had slain Banal. So how could he know that Banal not only had a son but that that son married Solas’s? 

The elf in question seemed to realize Solas’s thoughts even before he asked. “ _You see a great many things here on this side._ ” He merely shrugged. Thankfully for him, Banal slammed into the barrier, halting conversation. 

His wings disappeared right before he smacked into it. Hitting it didn’t hurt him of course. It soothed him more than anything. His claws pierced it as he shoved himself away from it. The flames flickered black around them for a moment. Then he did his Void-step and shoved Sulendys through a rock pillar. 

“How and why do his wings keep appearing and disappearing?” Dorian asked aloud. The “spirit” turned to him with a furrowed brow. 

“Magic.” It stated as though that was the answer to everything. Dorian rolled his eyes. 

“Yes I well understand that. But **how** , **why**?” 

It only frowned more. “It’s magic, why does it have to be explained?” It growled. 

Dorian blinked. “So it can be understood.” 

The “spirit” snorted. “Do newborn babes have to have breathing explained to them as well then?” 

“Well, no, but---“ 

“Then why does magic have to be explained? It’s just something that you do.” 

Solas stepped in, “Because magic isn’t as common as you would think, spirit.” Elgar’nan turned his disdainful stare back to him. 

“I wonder who’s fault that is.” Solas’s jaw flexed. The “spirit” sighed as he turned back to Dorian. “Fine, mortal, if I must explain this, do try to keep up.” Dorian might have set his ass on fire had he not been the only thing between them and being torn to shreds along with this section of the Fade. “Simply put, those wings are physical manifestations of your Inquisitor’s magic. Every time he uses it, they’ll disappear.” 

“Then why don’t they disappear when he shoots lightning?” Ambrose asked as the Inquisitor did just that. Rocks pinged off the barrier from the blast. 

“Different magic.” The “spirit” shrugged. When the humans kept looking at him expectantly, it made a loud noise of annoyance. “Those spells use Fade magic. The wings are Void magic.” Its aquamarine eyes studied the mortal’s faces as confusion settled into their expressions. “Don’t tell me you don’t know anything about the Void either.” 

“For sake of argument, let’s say we don’t.” Varric gave. 

The spirit’s palm smacked against his forehead. He supposed it was only natural for creatures of that world not to know of the Void. It was something that had an entire realm between it and them. Not like his world. 

“The Void is where souls cross over right?” Lyllie tried. The “spirit” nodded. 

“It’s also where they and pretty much everything are created.” The “spirit” turned back to the fight as it continued to explain. “It is a place of great power that the world turns upon. It is a place of nothing that created everything, and that everything must return to. To draw on that power…” Its eyes fell upon Banal as he righted himself in the air, wings beating to slow his descent. Water parted, flying up with the force of him skidding backwards. “It is a power completely unique to your Inquisitor’s bloodline.” 

They all wanted to ask more but the “spirit’s” tone told them it didn’t wish to speak any more of it. Banal’s ears twitched backwards towards them, a little shiver running through him. Feathers fell from his wings, snow shook off him. They were afraid of him, he could feel it. Claws bit into his side as he was distracted. 

“A word to the wise,” Elgar’nan spoke quietly, “Do try to contain your fear. Not only do you make the Nightmare stronger, but you hurt your Inquisitor as well.” 

“Hurt him how?” The small elven woman asked with a furrowed brow. 

“He can sense it, hear it. It distracts him, makes him hesitate from certain actions. And against Sulendys, he cannot afford such things.” He turned towards the mortals. “He might have a different form, but he is still your Inquisitor, is he not?” 

Varric winced. If the Seeker or Iron Lady were here, Banal wouldn’t be for much longer. He’d be made Tranquil probably. A Smiley who could not smile was far more terrifying and weird than a horned Smiley. And oh dear Maker, try explaining it to Vhena and An’nas! The thought of little Vhena seeing her father devoid of all emotions damn near broke his heart. 

“If you do not believe me, look.” The “spirit” continued, motioning towards the fight with his head. “See how he never allows Sulendys near? Keeps himself between us and him?” Sure enough Sulendys took a step towards the barrier, the Inquisitor off to the right where he had landed. His eyes flickered over to the fiery light for a moment. 

Black flames ignited around his fingertips. His wings shattered as he slashed the air, ripping black tears open. He stepped into it. The Fade shifted as the tear disappeared. It shimmered and moved a few seconds later right as Banal just materialized in front of Sulendys. His leg came up and caught the man/demon in the side. Sulendys skidded several meters away. 

Banal’s wings reappeared from the black mist, flaring to shield the barrier from view. Almost in a warning manner. His tail slashed the air. The ground crackled as it froze and broke again. 

The duo bounded towards the other, claws and fangs bared. Banal ducked a swipe. His fist cut upwards. With halla-like grace, Sulendys dodged. They traded blows back and forth in an endless struggle to best the other. But it was quite clear they were of equal strength. Where Banal was raw strength, Sulendys was agility. Where Sulendys was ground, Banal was sky. 

The party watched as their Inquisitor managed to draw blood from his opponent, a rather deep gouge across his chest. But he barely noticed it, sending a lightning bolt out of his fingertips. Banal’s wings broke, shield forming. The bolt struck the shield…or rather went into the shield. Like it absorbed it. Yet the Fade shifted like another tear had formed. 

“At this rate, they’ll tear the Fade apart before there’s a winner!” Solas hissed. 

Lyllie frowned as she looked at Hawke. “So…uh…here’s a good question: what the hell does that mean?!” She yelled. Who the hell could tear the **Fade** apart? It took Coryph-ass a magical orb thingy to rip the Veil apart. Banal didn’t have one of those here…did he? 

“Each time they Void-step, or use any kind of Void magic, it has to break down a section of the Fade to allow the Void here.” Solas explained in his exasperated voice, like he had explained this many times already. “The more they do it, the more unstable this area of the Fade becomes.” 

“So what the hell are we doing standing around?” Tabris tightened her grip on her daggers. She wasn’t sure if she could actually wound the demon thing, but hell she didn’t even know if she could defeat the Archdemon either. 

The "spirit" grabbed her just as she was about to step outside the barrier. “You go out there, you die.” She shot daggers at its weird turquoise eyes. Purple danced around the pupil before diffusing into teal waters. “This barrier is the only thing keeping you from feeling the Void’s presence. And if they do manage to rip a hole in the Fade, the Void will corrupt you…” The "spirit" stopped for a moment with a bewildered look as he felt inside the mortal elf. “Well, corrupt you more.” 

Lyllie yanked her arm out of its grip. “And we’re just going to let them duke it out? In case you hadn’t noticed, the Inquisitor is bleeding from every part of his body.” 

The "spirit" snorted. “No. We just wait.” Everyone blinked at it. But it just turned back to watch the fight with a slight smile. Just wait? Seriously that was the plan? How was that different than just letting them fight. 

A few minutes…or seconds or years (it was hard to tell the passing of time in the Fade) went by of more magic and clawing and magic clawing. Then the ground pulsed. The air pulsed. The barrier shimmered as the "spirit" winced, its elven ears pinning back as though it heard a high pitched whine. 

That was when Lyllie covered her ears and tried not to scream. Her blood boiled. Small whispers sounded behind her ears. Like singing. Like the Archdemon talking to the hoard. She fell to her knees. 

“Shit, Tigerlilly.” Varric grumbled as he and Hawke went to the Warden’s side. She curled in on herself. Pain was all she understood. It was like the Joining, fire in her veins, in her head. But it was far more intense. She had never felt a darkspawn that was this potent. Not even the Architect or Corypheus. 

They all began to look around, expecting to see more of Sulendys’s ilk appearing. Unfortunately, it was much worse. 

Dorian happened to look up at the sky. After all, if Banal was like Sulendys and he could fly, why couldn’t others? At first he just thought them to be little specks of Fade whishing about like the Fade does. But they kept getting larger as they came towards them. A now-painfully-familiar black fire surrounded them… 

“Fasta Vas, what are those?!” He pointed at them. 

The "spirit’s" smile grew. “What we were waiting for.” It said cheerfully. 

The ground began to quiver violently, stopping the fight. Both of the combatants turned to where the now-deafening song came from. Sulendys frowned. Of course they had to come. They always were kill joys. His tail flicked behind him like an angry cat. He retreated a step. The air became heavy, oppressive, thick with Void. 

“Yeah that doesn’t make me feel better!” Varric shouted over the strange sound they all could hear. Like a dragon’s roar combined with a bird’s song. 

“I didn’t say it would make you feel better, durgen’len, I just said it was what we were waiting for!” The "spirit" chuckled, apparently at complete ease as the beings got closer. His barrier flickered, the flames turning black before they dissolved away. 

Rocks flew up as one of the beings landed. Rather like a meteor smacking down actually. Banal shifted and moved in front of the group. His back tensed, tail slowly flicking its tip. His eyes narrowed as the dust settled. 

When they would do their reports on this later, there would be six different accounts on the being before them. Dorian would say it was a strange form of Desire demon; Varric a badass version of a Despair. Solas, a Pride demon; Tabris, a Rage mixed with Archdemon. All of them would be correct. And all of them would be wrong. Only Banal could see what was truly before them. 

The spirit took a female form with skin far darker than Josephine’s or Sulahn’mi’s. White bangs fell into her face, covering the face guard that was seemingly growing out of her skin. The nose guard held a single spike at the end. Black dragon horns sprouted from her head, her hair turning into braided white flames over her shoulder. Her armor grew out of her body, covering her like dragon scales. A spade-tipped tail whipped behind her as her large dragon wings settled against her back. She might have seemed relatively normal looking as far as spirits went, save her body was too elongated, arms a bit too long, and her legs were backwards like a dog’s. 

And in a sea of black her slitted green and red irises rested. Markings just like Banal’s and Sulendys’s decorated her body, but hers seemed to shift and move, form new shapes. 

Sulendys hissed, baring his fangs, ears pinning back as she glared at him. Her magic flared in her markings. But Sulendys wasn’t going to stick around and find out what the hell she was going to do. He slashed the air, tearing a portal and bounding through it. The female spirit frowned, but did not pursue. 

Instead, she turned to the group. Her eyes felt like ice sliding down their spines before she settled on their friendly warrior spirit elf and Banal. 

“Avala doh un im Ziihi.” The female hissed, frown deepening. Her tone told them she wasn’t surprised. “Dohn aehven un im Ziihirai aelea.” Her voice echoed with that strange demonic tone, female and male. Her tail flicked back and forth like an angry dragon. 

The party all looked at each other (save Solas, Elgar’nan and Banal of course), confused. It didn’t sound like any language they’d ever heard. It was spoken with a soft almost Antivan accent, with a lilting Elvhen quality to it, but had the harsh sounds of dwarven and Qunlat. What exactly was she…it? 

The words sounded…familiar to Banal, like he understood their intent but not their meaning. Of course it could’ve been him just figuring that out through the Void-song that buzzed behind his ears. The words were a part of it though spoken separately, and like the song he could understand what it meant. 

Another demon fluttered down in a flurry of diseased and bedraggled feathers. This one appeared to take a…male form? A very, very pretty male form. Even from a distance, his eyelashes cast shadows and heavily framed his slitted eyes that were surrounded in black. His white hair flickered at the ends of his rope braid, flashing against the almost jewelry-like armor growing out of his pale body. He watched with the expression of a lazy cat, tail flicking and all. Lyllie, however, was reminded of a Blight Owl watching her from the trees. 

“Vru dahr Ziihi zqiin verndoh?” He said with an almost bemused and sensual purr. He…giggled? Yes giggled as the female’s frown deepened, eyes still locked on the gold armored spirit elf. 

“Ziihi! Vashtiun!” She barked, the very Fade itself quaking with just her voice. Panic spiked in their hearts. “Vrara dohn Ziihirai Meirqiiem? Vri dohn Ziihi savokin?” They all looked to the strange spirit elf. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion as well. Obviously whatever this language was, it wasn’t universal to spirits. She growled, tail flicking harder as the flames of her hair flared once. 

“ _Fiery one, where is your Shield?_ ” She asked through gritted daggers (for that was what her teeth were it seemed, tiny little daggers). 

Elgar’nan’s eyebrows raised and a little ‘oh’ escaped his mouth as the spirit resorted to Elvish. These spirits would know that tongue well and he had spoken with them enough to know that they referred to guardians (i.e. his kind’s wardens) as Shields. Why? He never got a good answer for that. He imagined it would be like trying to explain why he called a cat, cat or a tree, tree. 

Just as he opened his mouth to answer, a Rift opened between the two parties. Banal’s tail twitched harder as his body tensed. It was a black rift, glowing purple around the edges. But in the middle was a white light. It was almost like it was inside a sphere, it visible from all sides. And it gave off a…strange hum aura. Hum aura because the aura was not visible, but audible. Lyllie gripped her head as she tried to shut it out. It was like listening to the entire Hoard again! 

That white light grew and morphed. Like it was something walking to them. Slowly it came. Soon it was in the shape of another demon/spirit. And then the black sphere conformed to it and it...shattered, revealing another one of the strange beings. Maker’s Breath! They were slowly being surrounded by these spirits no one knew existed! Now suddenly there was a whole herd of them! 

This one had no wings, but a more muscly build, not like Bull of course. His was still a lanky frame, but with thicker ropes of muscle. He was taller too, by at least a full head compared to the other two. Two heads compared to Dorian and Hawke. 

He had armor trimmed with mangy fur. He also had a long surcoat with a fur collar (it reminded Dorian of their dear Commander’s surcoat actually, only more…revolting). The dark brown fur was matted with blood, some areas sparse like it had gotten ripped out and had small black spines almost hidden throughout. Similar spines protruded from his sandy colored skin over that collar, and through the coat down his back to his also spiked tail. 

Unlike the others, he didn’t have gauntlets. Instead his black claws were thick as a bear’s, knuckles completely scabbed around the tiny black spikes rising out of them. His horns were short, barely peeking out of his tousled white flame hair. Also unlike the others, he had war paint on, a suspicious red strip that ran across his eyes horizontally. It almost looked like mortal blood and the small glimpses of skin showed he had more designs over top the shimmering markings. 

Every muscle in their bodies locked up as he looked at the mortals. He seemed to radiate power, raw and savage power. Like they were facing down a Bereskarn. Banal even flashed his teeth in warning, wings flaring. Like he was trying to make himself bigger. It would’ve been cute and amusing had they not been in the Fade facing down freaky-ass demons. 

The newcomer smirked before turning to the she-dragon. “Yiver raen Xiversin raibyra savokin eh Ryareniija.” His voice was gruff, raspy. Exactly how they’d think a bear would talk. “Osonien hyn Aeavaaun.” 

The woman glared at him. The heat in that glare would’ve skewered a mortal. But the Bereskarn spirit weathered far better. Banal’s tail ceased its warning flick as she sighed in defeat. The tension, that electric build up that pressed against them, dissipated as well. 

“Micaiah.” She hissed. The Bereskarn only smirked and shrugged. Then she turned to the mortals, still with her ‘I’m done with you’ frown. “Go find the other one.” She hissed to the Owl spirit. “Put him back in his chains.” 

The Owl giggled. “How much trouble could such a small thing cause?” 

Elgar’nan frowned. “A lot. Like destroying an entire section of the Fade, a lot.” The spirits turned to him. The female pulled her upper lip back in a warning. Obviously she wouldn’t be forgetting he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. 

“This area is of no consequence.” She hissed. “We were here for the Nightmare. The spider has gotten too big for its web. It breaks the thin threads as he moves, unbalancing the structure, threatening to teeter over one direction or another.” 

“And yet, we find mortals where they shouldn’t be, feeding the fat spider.” The Owl said in a rather delighted tone. “You disrupt the web more, stumbling and thrashing like flies caught in its snare.” 

“And you bring the blooded one, the lost one with you.” The female’s eyes moved to Banal. He got the sense that he knew these spirits. “And we cannot fathom why.” 

“Sheer accident actually,” Elgar’nan gave with a cheeky smile. “Seriously they just fell in here. I was helping them get out.” 

The spirits frowned, tails twitching save the Bereskarn. He spoke up. “I felt the lost one enter just as the fiery one did. The fiery one wished to help, but he was to remain on this side.” 

The Archdemon lady snorted, “Naki’Ashada! The thing could lie! If it were to escape, what’s to stop the others? That world already threatens to unravel, it going there would just tear it asunder.” She growled. Her markings turned orange, dancing like fire over her skin. 

Elgar’nan frowned, but tried not to take too much offense at being called ‘it’. To spirits, there were no genders and to these particular spirits, people were like plants; they needed to be expertly nurtured and weeded. 

“I would render his mind useless, if that were to occur.” The Bereskarn answered calmly. Well that just makes everything better! Good to know he’d be turned into a vegetable if he tried to leave! 

Solas stepped forward. He had a hunch on what these spirits were, but assuming was bad for one’s health. Plus the others wouldn’t believe him if he told them. No they needed to hear for themselves. 

“What manner of spirit are you?” He asked. The trio turned to him. 

“We have had many names.” The female stated. “The Keepers.” 

“The Testers.” The Owl smiled. “At one time, the humans called me Lusacan.” All of their blood ran cold at the name. 

“Zazikel,” The Bereskarn snorted like it was a silly idea. 

“Razikale.” The Archdemon rolled her eyes. “Mortals always like to name things they cannot understand. To us we are simply Corruption.” 

Did it suddenly become harder to breathe? Or like the air was suddenly too thin? It sure felt that way to the Inquisition members and guests. Their minds spun. Before them were what? Three of the Old Gods? Dorian didn’t know if he should laugh, cry, or scream. On the one hand it was absurd to think that the Old Gods, who were very much dragons sleeping underground, were actually spirits! 

“Old Gods?” Lusacan the Owl tilted his head as he caught wisps of fear. The song told him all there was to know about the terror. “No, no, we are not the dragons.” He had a soothing voice, like he was a mother comforting a child. “But we…talked to the Priests, one by one, in dreams. And they named us.” 

“Individually? Since when do spirits get individual names?” Hawke asked though he had not meant to. 

“We have our strengths and weaknesses just as you, Bird of Prey. Some were more suited to test one cult than another.” Razikale snorted. “That they thought us their gods just made it easier.” 

The ground shook for a moment, like something was pounding on it. The Corruption spirits looked around, elven ears flicking this way and that as they listened to something. 

“On it.” Lusacan nodded after a moment. He gathered himself. His wings gave a powerful flap, shooting him into the air. Once he was clear of the group, he circled, rising in altitude. 

Then a magic pulse shot him forward, a thunderclap almost becoming tangible in his wake. 

“Another thread has broke.” Zazikel grumbled. 

Razikale sighed loudly. “Get the mortals to the Tear. I’ll deal with the Spider.” The Bereskarn frowned like being assigned guard duty was an insult. Seeing as he was called Zazikel, God of Chaos, it might have been one too. But the Archdemon lady had the look of ‘this is what you get’ as she also shot into the air. 

Zazikel glared at Elgar’nan before sighing himself. “Fine. I’ll keep the mortals.” He turned to the group. “Come, you do not belong here. And the lost one needs to leave soon lest the dark one returns for his heart.” 

He stepped forward. His very presence made Tabris wince and her world roll so hard she wanted to vomit. She dropped to her knees as it became like a hand pressing down on her body. The spirit tilted its head. 

A growl made everyone’s head snap to their Inquisitor. He was glaring at the Warden, like she was irritating him. His lips were curling back from his fangs. Dorian knew that look. It was the same look he had at Crestwood and in Dorian’s room. He swallowed, trying to keep his heart from speeding up. 

A hard thing to do when black fire, or he supposed Void fire, sprang to life around Banal’s hands. The group shared a look. Strangely, Solas and the warrior elf stepped in front of the group, shielding them. Varric stood in front of the Warden. 

Everything stood still. The dwarf wasn’t sure what was going on, but he did know that Chuckles seemed quite ready to put the smack down on Smiley. And though his wounds were being held together by magic, Varric didn’t think Banal could survive a firestorm. So he did what he did best: talk. 

“Hey there, Smiley,” His voice quivered a bit. But the elf’s ears gave a slight flick forward at the name. “Tiger just has a headache from your weird spirit friends. Kind of like how you did?” The elf didn’t seem to comprehend Varric was talking to him. “You remember, right? How you opened up a Rift and we fell in and are now trapped in this hell hole?” 

“What are you doing?” Dorian hissed. He was pretty sure Banal wasn’t going to talk and this wasn’t helping. In fact, it seemed to be irritating the Inquisitor more. Where his tail was just flicking, it was now swishing back and forth. 

“Talking to him, like he’s a person?” Varric growled back. “I don’t see any of you coming up with a better plan and it worked back at Crestwood.” Dorian would concede the dwarf’s point. “So just go with it, Sparkler, because if we don’t ten soverigns says either Chuckles or Bereskarn over there skewers our Inquisitor.” 

The Altus sighed. “Banal,” The elf’s eyes flashed to him. Dorian swallowed his fear, trying to ignore the memory of seeing the Inquisitor in Crestwood. “Banal, in case you hadn’t noticed, but we really need to leave here.” He kept his tone flippant. 

“Yeah, this really isn’t a good vacation spot, Smiley.” The Inquisitor’s ears flicked forward for a second. So they kept talking, the warrior elf sometimes adding to the conversation while Solas and Zazikel stayed ready to murder him. 

But then the Inquisitor took a step forward. 

***** 

“—good vacation spot, Smiley.” Flitted through Banal’s consciousness. Like through water. He felt like he was floating. He could feel his body move, see hazy images of what was happening but it all felt like he was deep in water. And he had no control of how his body moved. 

“Your kids are probably getting worried about you—“ came next. Banal’s head felt like it was on fire. Why couldn’t he see who was talking? Why was his body not his own to control? He squinted through the cloud, mentally swimming towards the light. 

His sight came back first. His companions stood in front of him with that blindingly bright spirit. Not the Faith one, but the other one. The one he knew but didn’t. Another spirit was near, towering over everyone. The Warden was on the ground. 

And she was radiating that infernal song. Pain, like a delicate waltz, shoved its way to his ears. It needed to stop. He wanted it to stop. 

That was when his body stepped forward, hand coming up with a fireball. 

Wait a moment…he thought, time slowing down like the outside world was in water, not him. Why was he attacking? Why was he attacking his…companions, friends? His eyes darted to everyone’s face. Solas had a look of determination, like he would strike Banal down if he had to. 

Varric’s eyes were widening in shock, but he was still trying to talk. The dwarf and his silver tongue. Ambrose was confused, but readying a barrier. And Dorian. Dorian’s eyes held fear, the same fear they had when Banal had burnt him. 

Banal’s heart stuttered, twisting. He didn’t like that look, didn’t like the sound of his or any of their fears. Dammit, he wanted that gone. He shouldn’t be what caused them fear. A strange thought really, seeing as not too long ago he wanted them to fear them. 

But then the dwarf called him ‘Smiley’, and would gently prod and push him towards another path. He made jokes, and held one-sided conversations with him, like Banal was actually a friend. The Seeker taunted enemies and shielded him from blows. She matched his stubbornness, and stood fast against him, but also at his side though she questioned him often. 

Blackwall thought the Inquisition to be righteous, that Banal was a symbol of hope. He helped make sure that image was not tarnished. Bull called him ‘boss’ and drank beer with him. He kept him a part of everyone else, just another one of the gang. Sera annoyed him, but she showed him what was lost, but also how life goes on. 

And then Dorian. They kissed; they had sex. He held his hand, unafraid of a Mark that could’ve opened a Rift on him for all the Altus knew. He challenged Banal, yelled at him, called him on his lies. 

Suddenly Banal found it difficult to imagine destroying a world that held these people. Not to mention all his old friends or his children. Their fear hurt him, his magic shrinking away from their hearts. 

So why couldn’t he stop himself from throwing the fireball? He tried, commanding his arm to lower. But it kept going. 

**No** was the only word running through his head. Dammit, this was his fucking body. He was in control, not his blood. He was not his blood. He would not be a fucking puppet, he would not be ruled by instincts that couldn’t decipher friend from foe. 

He would not be a slave. 

*****

Little cracks showed in the area where Banal’s white streak once was. They lit up, flickering like little flames just as he began to throw the fireball that spelled the group’s death. 

Then the light burst through the cracks. It burned its way down Banal’s hair like it was a lit fuse, leaving a white streak in its path. Even when it hit his shoulders, where the white streak had stopped before, it kept going. It burned away the black until there was only a foot of it left at the end. 

Banal blinked many times, staggering backwards. He shook his head, making the little charms appearing on his antlers chime. Strange feathers, made of pure magic, wisped into existence all along his braid. They shifted colors from a raven green to a raven purple and back again. 

“What…just happened?” He got out. His head was pounding like he had gotten kicked by Corypheus’s dragon again. And he was sore everywhere. And cold. By the Void was he cold. He shivered, snow and flakes of ice breaking off him. 

“Smiley?” Varric asked warily. 

“No, I’m the fucking Archdemon.” Banal grumbled. Did he really look that different? 

The dwarf chuckled, “I think he’s fine.” 

“I feel like I’ve just battled a nest of dragons, so define fine for me.” Then he heard that annoying song again. He shook his head violently, like that could get it to stop. 

“At ease, Blooded One,” came a gruff voice. Banal turned to the spirit. It radiated a silence that was somehow soothing to Banal. It got rid of the stupid song anyway. The Corruption spirit then looked down at the Warden, who was still clutching her head. “It is just your friend. Mortal bodies should not take in the Void, but only voids can kill voids.” 

“Great more spirits who talk in riddles.” Banal hissed under his breath. Then he focused on the Warden. The compulsion to help tied a string to her. He felt it pull and tug at him, like she was a harp and one string was out of tune and begging to be right again. 

“I speak how I know.” The spirit smiled. “And I cannot aid your friend as I am what causes her pain or rather what I bring causes her pain.” 

“Then leave.” Banal hissed. Varric could’ve jumped for joy at the elf’s ‘are you stupid?’ look. 

“I cannot until you are on the other side.” 

“For the love of darkness and decay…” Banal sighed exasperatedly. Which made his chest stab him. He winced, looking down at his torso. He remembered now getting a beating, claws and daggers slashing at him. A few ribs grated against themselves and he was pretty sure if it wasn’t for whatever kind of magic he was using, he’d be coughing up blood and struggling to breathe. 

“Perhaps we should take a moment to heal—“ Solas started. 

“No.” Banal’s voice suddenly had a demonic tone, the white flames that licked along his hair dimmed. He took a breath, calming himself. “No. Let’s just leave.” He turned to the Warden. He wasn’t sure what he could do, but he vaguely recalled a sleeping spell. Elvhen often healed from sleep, so perhaps their modern-day counterparts held the same trait. Even if they didn’t, sleep would keep her from noticing pain. 

He stretched out a hand. White magic flared around his hand before swirling away to her in thin tendrils. Her eyes rolled back and her body went limp at their touch. “There, grab her and let’s go.” Then he seemed to notice something was wrong. “Where’s my spear?” Apparently during all the confusion and chaos everyone failed to notice the Inquisitor did not have his weapon. 

Banal sighed; he hated the Fade. He pointed to the Rift. “Start heading for it and I’ll catch up.” 

“You can’t seriously think we’d let you wander off by yourself after all this?” Dorian asked, wanting to strangle him again. Banal winced at the anger that suddenly flared. “It’s a spear, Banal. You can have one made just like it back at Skyhold.” 

Banal shifted uncomfortably. Logically yes he should leave it, it was just a weapon. But call him sentimental but he loved that spear. And he had a feeling there were memories connected to it. So it felt wrong to abandon it in the Fade. 

“I’ll go with him.” The blindingly bright spirit shrugged as it retrieved its shield from the waters. “I’ll make sure he gets to the Tear, no problem.” Everyone turned to it. The Bereskarn narrowed its eyes, tail twitching. “I won’t go kidnapping him or whatever you’re accusing me of doing in your heads. Warrior’s honor.” It rose its left hand in oath. 

Solas nearly laughed at the words. Honor wasn’t something you’d attribute to a vengeful god, especially if his name was Elgar’nan. 

“Fine, but Vashtiun comes back to me or it goes back in chains. I will keep the other mortals.” Zazikale growled. 

“Fair enough.” Banal furrowed his eyebrows at the two. But hey he got to get his spear, so weird spirits didn’t seem to concern him. He looked back the way he had been dragged. His body felt…off. Like there was more weight on certain areas and it threw off his equilibrium. Not to mention, his body was beginning to hurt again. 

Still, he walked forward. Ice crackled around him, a trail of snow marking his passage. 

***** 

Banal and the spirit walked quietly, side by side. It seemed unafraid of the eternal chill around him. In fact, it seemed to radiate a soft warmth that even Banal could feel. Which was saying a lot. All he could feel was cold. The air as he walked was chilled; the water was freezing. 

"So where did you last see your spear?” The spirit asked as they reached the area where Sulendys had paralyzed some demons. Banal scratched his nose. Claws stung his face. He winced, pulling his hand away, refusing to look at it. 

He didn’t want to touch where he could feel a weight on his head, or his back. He didn’t want to look down on himself. He wouldn’t look at his reflection in the crystals or water; he wouldn’t look at his own shadow. Why? 

He was afraid of what he might find. He prayed this was all a trick of the Fade. He hoped the memory he relived was falsely planted there by the Nightmare. It was honestly the only way he was going to keep sane. 

“I can’t say I remember.” Banal gave, stopping to look at the demons. They were beginning to twitch now. The smaller ones, however, were being eaten away by frost. Banal clenched his jaw. 

“Well that’s helpful.” The spirit remarked cheekily. It contemplated things for a moment. “So where did Sulendys first show up?” 

Banal blinked at it. “Who?” 

It sighed softly, almost regretfully. “Sulendys. Elf with short black hair, halla horns and a tail? Kinda looks like you?” Not that the Inquisitor would know, but, his line was notorious for ironic names. Sulendys, bringer or servant of luck. Mahviiral, tomorrow’s journey. All the way back to Ajue’tishn, creator of peace. 

“Oh, him.” Banal pointed to the archway. “He showed up in that little cove area.” 

“Well then excellent place to star—“ Its head snapped to the side as one of the Terrors suddenly broke free. “ _Fenedhis_ ” it growled, unsheathing its axe. Banal felt a few others behind them shake off the lightning. 

His body wouldn’t move. A quiet song of battle sung behind his ears, but even that didn’t motivate him to move. Like his body once again left his control. But mostly it was just him not knowing what to do. His magic…felt weird. Heavier. Colder. Reaching from some area he did not know. 

“Really could use some of your ice fire right about now!” The spirit yelled as it ducked a Terror’s claws. Interesting, the demons did not near Banal. Or rather they’d look at him and sort of decide not to attack. Like wolves eyeing a bear as it ate a carcass. Is it really worth attacking? Apparently not. 

Banal frowned. Ice fire…right like that made sense. Still, he supposed he’d have to do something. He reached for his magic, wherever it was coming from it was still his. So maybe spells worked the same? He could hope. 

Slowly he gathered magic around one of his hands. It didn’t seem like he was doing anything, but he kept willing fire into being before shoving the magic away. 

A black fireball whizzed forward. Frost glittered in its path. It slammed into the Terror. The demon gave a horrible shriek as the flames licked at it. And it just…dissolved away. Banal’s head spun for a moment, the world turning beneath him. Okay. Too much magic. 

The spirit hacked an arm off another Terror before whirling around and taking a large chunk from its torso. A regular wildfire spell incinerated it. After that, Banal heard the battle song die down, replaced by a fearful one. The demons began to scatter from them. 

“Well…that was odd.” Banal gave. The spirit only snorted in response. 

“Not really.” If only he knew… 

***** 

Dorian tapped his foot impatiently as they waited for the Inquisitor to reappear. Their tour guide, the Bereskarn Zazikale, leaned against the cave wall, arms crossed, watching diligently over his mortals. Rather like a guard watching prisoners. Or a thief watching his mark. 

“So, question, but what the hell are we going to say in our reports?” Varric suddenly asked. It had been bothering him for quite some time now. After all, they knew next to nothing about what was going on, the Inquisitor’s situation included. And that very situation was why he asked. 

If they told the truth, Smiley would most likely get purged again. Or made Tranquil. Or both. On the other hand, what else were they going to say? That the Fade played tricks on them and now somehow Banal had weird markings and horns? Would those things even stay once they exited the Fade? 

“Well, whatever we say, we should probably leave the Inquisitor being a demon out. At least not until we can ask him about it.” Tabris threw out. After all, the man was their only hope of besting Corypheus. She had awoken a few minutes ago after their friendly Corruption spirit did some weird magic thing she didn’t want to know about. 

“And you do realize that if he really is possessed by a demon, he would most likely lie to us right?” Ambrose pointed out with a frown. “So we’d leave the Inquisition in the hands of a demon.” 

“Not demon.” Zazikale piped in. “And he is not possessed either.” His tail flicked at the notion of both those things. The Blooded One was just different, evolved. Unique. “Your rite of Tranquility would not work on him and a purge would only bring the darker side to the front again.” He followed the dwarf’s line of thought. 

Varric blinked. Dammit so those things could do the Cole thing too. “So what are you saying we do?” And now they were taking advice from a spirit demon thing. 

“I am no demon, Citsiriun. I have not strayed from my purpose.” Zazikale narrowed his eyes in warning. “I could show you my darker side if you wish to know the distinction.” The dwarf rose his hands in surrender. 

“Yeah, no, if this is your lighter side, I don’t want to know the dark side.” 

The Bereskarn snorted, but continued. “Treat him as you normally had. He is no different than before, just more himself. Fear him and you will drive him back to war and blood, chaos. Love him and you bring memories to light, control.” The Corruption spirits needed order and balance, eternity, Void. It was their purpose. But order needed chaos, mortality. So the Blooded One walked a fine line between control as he was before and madness as his sires fell to. 

The sound of familiar voices stopped their conversation. The looked to the entrance of the little cave, the spirit and Banal talking about something as they neared. And Banal had his spear. Great now they could leave. 

Finally. 

“What took you so long, Smiley?” Varric yelled, teasing tone echoing around the stones. 

The Inquisitor’s eyes suddenly averted away from them like he was guilty. His tail, which had formed a sort of ‘s’ shape behind him, drooped. The spirit laughed. 

“He got sidetracked by some spirits. Oh and a couple of Pride demons.” The spirit smiled. It was rather cute to him watching Banal bring little offerings to the trapped Dreamers. He looked like a meek dog crawling on its stomach, like he was afraid he was going to scare them off. 

“Oh well, at least it’s a good excuse.” Varric chuckled. The rest of the group stood, ready to get the hell out of there. 

“The Rift is just through there. We might actually make it.” Hawke sighed in relief. 

“That’s just great, Hawke, why not just dare the Old Gods to try and stop you.” Varric grumbled at the same time Lyllie snarled, “Now we’re all going to die. Thanks, Hawke.” The Bereskarn snickered before he pushed off the wall. 

“So where is your…other half?” Dorian asked the towering spirit. It looked down at him. 

“Most likely, watching, looking for a good opportunity to strike. A dragon does not chase her prey, but lets her prey come to her.” Well that’s comforting. It smiled, rows of little daggers making it far more unsettling than it should have been. “Come.” And then it waltzed out ahead of them. 

Banal shook his head in disbelief. The motion made his world spin for a moment. A sharp pain bloomed in his stomach. A hiss escaped him as he tried to both right himself and press a hand to the area. 

“Shit, Smiley, you doing okay?” Varric asked. All his wounds were still open it looked like. But the magic it seemed was starting to disintegrate. Banal’s eyes flickered to the dwarf. 

“The sooner we leave this place, the better I’ll be.” He mumbled as he staggered after the Bereskarn. His wobbly path caused a great deal of concern in his Companions. 

“So I think either he’s hurting really bad or he has a bottle of wine hidden somewhere on his person and isn’t sharing.” Their cheeky spirit elf joked, trying to make light. They all stared at it bewildered. It did a double-take at their looks. “No, just me? Fine forget I said anything.” It held its hands up in defeat and followed after the Inquisitor. 

Varric paused a moment. “So out of everything we’ve seen here, I think that spirit is the weirdest.” 

Solas sighed, “You have no idea, Master Tethras.” 

***** 

So the Faith spirit reappeared. Created a nice distraction too. If you could call it sacrificing itself a distraction. But hey, as far as deaths went it was a pretty faithful thing to do, complete with a cryptic remark. 

Banal snorted, shaking the thoughts from his head. They might not have been battling the giant spider, but the Aspect wasn’t anything to scoff at either. Banal’s breaths were becoming more labored as he littered the ground with black runes. 

While whatever had happened to him made his spells more potent, he still didn’t know how much magic was needed for the simplest of spells. With how heavy his magic felt, he’d think he’d need more. But his vision would warble each time he cast a spell. 

His spear pierced through a Fearling’s heart. His ears flicked back, a now all too familiar song of Terror ringing behind him. He dove forward. He motioned up with his hand. A wildfire lit underneath the Aspect. 

“So here’s an idea!” The Warden yelled in one of her few moments of reprieve. Hawke poured healing magic into her. “How about we make a run for the fucking Rift while the giant ass spider is blinded?!” 

The sound of a dragon bearing down on them stunned all their enemies. The Archdemon Lady Razikale shot down. “That would be the wisest thing one of your kind has said.” She snarled. The little demons suddenly got caught in a black flame tower. They disintegrated on touch. The Fade rippled. Its already thin threads frayed even more. 

Banal looked back at the Rift. “Start heading for the damn thing then!” He yelled. He jumped and landed in the pathway to it. He turned around to the Spider and Aspect, hoping to barricade the way from them. 

“Inquisitor, no offense, but I think you should be the one who goes first!” Solas shouted as he froze a Terror. 

“Agreed, you’re the only one who can seal the Rift!” Dorian yelled before jumping back to avoid having a spider crawl up his leg. Or bite him. Or whatever it was going to do. 

“Your objections have been noted, considered, and disregarded!” Banal shot back. “Now get your asses through that fucking Rift, or so help me I will throw you out!” His voice had that weird demon tone near the end. The one that told them not to press him any farther. Varric grumbled something under his breath. 

He dug around in his pocket for a moment. Soralan had given him a tiny little vial before they left. Said it combined with a flame could cause a bright light and an explosion. The dwarf whistled to get everyone’s attention. They all nodded in understanding. 

Varric threw the vial at the Aspect at the center of the battlefield. Just before it hit the demon, Banal slashed upwards with his staff. Flames shot out of the ground like pillars as they barreled down on the demon. Even though it wasn’t regular fire per say, it still ignited. 

Only an ice cloud happened with the explosion. Large ice shards shoved their way out of the ground as a blinding light erupted. The companions all high tailed it for the hill. Some of the smaller demons managed to try and follow them. 

Banal was ready. He slashed and spun with elegant swirls of his spear. Black flames shot out with every attack, creating wave after wave of Voidfire. Those that weren’t disintegrated, froze. The two Corruption spirits nodded, before turning their attention upwards at the spider. With the mortals heading to their plane, they could begin their work. 

And the bright spirit, Elgar’nan? Why he was right next to Banal, golden flames whipping around him as he cleaved a spider in two. He and the Inquisitor made slow progress as they backed up. 

The ground shook as the Nightmare took a step. Banal nearly lost his footing. His torso was starting to become unbelievingly painful. But he needed to end this. Almost like he was once again under that compulsion. The Nightmare needed to be killed. 

Elgar’nan glanced back to see the Warden and the Champion jump through the Rift that was maybe ten feet from them. Yet Banal had no intention of running. He stood with his eyes glued to the giant spider. His stance turned aggressive, tail flicking back and forth. His wings flared. 

But, that area of the Fade was coming apart at the seams. Already it was getting hard for Elgar’nan to breathe. His flame shield flickered as the magic he drew from was disappearing. While he was quite certain his nas’falon could survive in the Void (he had done it before), he was pretty sure it wasn’t healthy. 

The Sun King sighed to himself. Only one thing to do then. 

He stepped in front of Banal, placing a hand on his chest. He felt his heartbeat a rapid pace there. He could only hope those on the Otherside could heal him. Curious eyes bore into him as he looked down at his hand. He’d go back and change everything if he could, just so there wouldn’t be an entire Veil between them. 

“ _Ir abelas,_ ” was all he said. He concentrated a Mind Blast into his hand, using what Fade magic he could still pull from this area. 

Banal’s eyes widened as the blast struck his chest. 

***** 

One moment, everyone was fighting demons. And the next people started appearing out of the Rift. The group that had entered the Fade turned to look for the Inquisitor. Only he wasn’t there. For a minute, they stood in panic. 

Banal just couldn’t be trapped in the Fade. He didn’t like it there. And he was a lot weirder there. It was probably damaging to his mental and physical health too. 

Then he literally flew out of the Rift. Black smoked around him, the shadow dissolving away. His back slammed into a broken pillar. His eyes were wide in shock as he crumbled to the ground. 

He could hear his heartbeat slow. Each breath became a struggle. Like all of his strength was flowing out, blood from a wound. His vision faded away at the edges. 

The Rift. 

He looked at the Rift. He could see the Corruption spirits still battling the Nightmare with that weird spirit Banal knew he knew from somewhere. He needed to close it. His right shoulder felt shattered, or at least he couldn’t move it. And he was laying on his left arm. But dammit he needed to end this, one way or another. Using what little magic he had left, he pulled at the Anchor. 

It lit up weakly. A tiny thread snapped to the Rift. Banal shoved all his magic into it and commanded the sky to draw close. The Rift shattered. The powerful blast knocked most people back as the demons bound here were suddenly cut off from their power. 

For a moment, all was quiet. Soldiers stood up and looked around, finding no horrors. Like a dam had burst, the Inquisition army cheered loudly. Swords were raised in victory. Sighs were let out in relief. 

And in their celebration, nobody noticed their Inquisitor’s eyes falling shut, his chest stilling. 

That is until the sound of metal skidding across the stone assaulted their ears. Nenara, senses attuned to people’s life forces, had felt the thin trickle of Banal’s as he exited the Rift. She felt it flow out of him and into the Mark. 

So she ran. Even before she was within two feet of him, she was beginning her weave. A beautiful sea green aura surrounded her, the smell of the sea and the smell of grass filled the air. Her greaves hit the ground, sliding and sparking as she reached the Inquisitor. 

Her hands slammed down on him. Within a heartbeat, her spell weave wrapped around him. Her heart pulsed out its magic into him. The green aura sank into him. It cradled his heart. She pushed it into the still muscle. Slowly it drank the magic in, giving a weak thump. Much damage had been done to his body, so she poured more in. Gradually, the heart began to give out even pumps. That was when Banal’s body tried to breathe. It choked. Wet sounds came from him as air tried to make its way to his lungs and back out. More magic and she got his jaw to work. 

He gurgled, blood spluttering out of his lips and down his throat. But his eyes didn’t open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For you overly curious people here are the translations (that took forever):
> 
> " _Avala doh un im Ziihi._ " means: " _Of course (it) is one of you._ "
> 
> " _Dohn aehven un im Ziihirai aelea_ " means: " _(It) is always one of your kind/people._ "
> 
> " _Vru dahr Ziihi zqiin verndoh?_ " means: " _Who did you think (it) would be?_ "
> 
> " _Ziihi! Vashitun!_ " means: " _You! Fiery One!_ "
> 
> " _Vrara dohn Ziihirai Meriqiiem?_ " means: " _Where is your Shield (i.e. Guardian)?_ "
> 
> " _Vri dohn Ziihi savokin?_ " means: " _Why are you here?_ " (Roughly)
> 
> " _Yiver raen Xiversin raibryra savokin eh hyn Ryareniija._ " means: " _I let him come here to the home of fear._ "
> 
> " _Osonien hyn Aeavaaun._ " sorta means: " _To help the blooded one_." Aeavaaum is a weird word so that's why it's only sorta
> 
> " _Vashtiun_ " means: " _Passionate or fiery one_ "
> 
> " _Citsiriun_ " means: " _Small One_ " It is normally used for dwarves, faeries, and goblins/imps or as a pet name.
> 
> And my favorite curses " _Micaiah_ " and " _Naki'Ashada_ " are " _Ugly_ " and " _Enemy Bitch_ ". You'd call someone Micaiah the same way you'd say "bastard" btw.
> 
> You've no idea how much I wanted to make Sulendys, Elgar'nan (he's a snarky asshole but I love him) and Corruption 1,2,&3 go through the Rift...I resisted because that'd just derail everything, but oh god I wanted to so bad...
> 
> Got a specific personal quest you want me to do? Write a comment! Got a question? Ask away! My writing style is like a hidden object game: I leave little hints for you to find and slowly put the puzzle together. So if you miss some of the hints, you might not get the whole picture and you might not like the partial picture. And this chapter, which I have been leading up to since day one, is the culmination of all those hints. Also there's a lot of headcanon stuff that I've had to work out tied and woven into this one chapter, so, seriously **ask**. I can now answer most questions without spoilers.
> 
> As always thank you for reading, commenting, giving kudos, and being patient with my slow ass XD


	26. Blood Lilly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To save a god, you have to use some unconventional methods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giant giant thank you for you people who have loved this story! Epically giant thank you to those who have been with me since the beginning! This thing is about a year old now, and I'm still surprised so many of you have stuck with me XD
> 
> Last but not least, a huge thank you to [Megan140](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Megan140/pseuds/Megan140) for betaing these monsters. You deserve a medal. I do believe we've caught most of the errors, but some might still be there. They are long chapters/parts and both of us are sadly mortal.
> 
> Warning: if suicide or suicidal thoughts, implied abuse, and other dark themes trigger you, don't read the first dream/nightmare part.

The fortress stood still; Corypheus himself could’ve appeared and no one would’ve moved. The only thing that could be heard above the wind and fighting in the lower areas was the Inquisitor trying to breathe around blood. Red splattered and bubbled out his lips with each gurgle. 

Nenara’s sea green aura flickered for a moment as a wave of dizziness overcame her. Her own body started to shake as her Fade reserves began to deplete. Now she wasn’t god-like, but she liked to think she had a substantial amount of mana to work from. Even if she had just fought a battle, she should’ve been fine. 

Yet when she looked at Banal, the tiny little flame of life she had blown back into existence from a dying ember…was starting to flicker out. “ _Fenedhis!_ ” She growled. She took a quick look around, noticing everyone was just staring. “For t’e love of…someone go get Lotus!” She barked, a bit of desperation in her tone. She closed her eyes and began the spell again. 

That flame would not go out so long as she had air in her lungs. 

***** 

Nenara’s voice struck everyone like a whip to the face. Tahon had barely blinked before his body shifted into a golden eagle. Normally he didn’t use this form save to cool his head. The wind in his feathers soothed him. The subtle air drafts dancing through the air allowed him to soar high and just let go. 

Now there was nothing calming. 

His wings beat frantically, pushing himself over the walls to the Inquisition camp tucked safely against a cliff side where the infirmary and supplies could function without arrows striking. He tilted his wings just slightly to bank to the left. His eyes, able to see a fish in a river from the sky, clearly saw every face beneath him as he circled. His heart, beating far faster than a bird’s should have, nearly stopped when he couldn’t find the healer. He circled again, trying to find a large tent or something. 

He mentally cursed the Lotusmaker. He had to choose now to be inconspicuous. Normally you could find him easily, a mess of pale blonde curls standing at 6’2” with a long black coat to cover him. Now it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Why did humans have to be so similar? 

He descended, transforming his body quickly in a flurry of feathers. His head whipped around. Many people stopped to stare oddly at his frantic motions. “Um…Serah Surana?” one particular soldier asked as he paused walking somewhere. “Is there’s something wrong?” 

Tahon’s gold eyes snapped to him. It was still strange that the soldiers all called him by his last name. But formalities didn’t really matter. “Lotus, where is he?” Tahon snapped. The soldier jumped to attention like he was being yelled at by a commander. 

“He is in that tent there, ser!” The man pointed to a large brown tent with the flaps pulled closed. 

Tahon pushed passed him and to the tent. “Lotus!” He shoved his way inside. The black eyed healer didn’t even turn to see him. He was too busy stitching a woman soldier’s cheek together. 

“Aye?” The Lotusmaker mumbled. Tahon blinked. The healer’s long black coat was gone, revealing his crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and silken vest. A single leather pauldron was strapped across his chest with a symbol of a noble house embossed on the pad. Blood stained his hands, splattered over his vest and shirtsleeves. 

“Banal…” was the only word the duelist could get out both from shock and fear. The healer’s head snapped to him. 

Lotus looked at the soldier. “ _Ir abelas_ ,” he whispered as he bade the wound close. She hissed slightly as the wound healed far faster than it would’ve done otherwise. But he’d rather cause her brief pain and get to Banal faster, than to have to search for a new Inquisitor. 

He snatched his satchel as he turned towards the duelist. “Let’s go.” Both flew out of the tent. As they ran, Tahon pulled magic into his body again. He pushed his shape this way and that until he turned into a Hart. Lotus easily swung himself up onto his back as he trotted. 

As soon as the weight settled on his back, Tahon shot forward, bounding quickly back towards the fortress. 

***** 

Hooves clattered against the stones, the sound deafening. Tahon wove desperately through the fortress. He leapt up stairs, bounded down the battlements. Of course, he couldn’t use doors, but he had spent enough time running around the damn shemlen monstrosity that he knew how to get back to the main courtyard via the battlements. 

Lotus gripped for dear life as the duelist went up another set of stairs. He really wished Tahon could turn into a griffon or something less…bouncy. Lotus never was one for mounts. Ships he could stand, but the rocking and bouncing sway motion of a Hart? Oh no, it nearly robbed him of his small lunch. 

Finally the battlement opened up to one side. Below was the spearhead of the army so to speak. Wardens and Inquisition members were scattered all over with various wounds. Red lyrium marred the ground more than the corpses. 

In the middle lay Nenara, her distinctive aura unmistakable. Lotus didn’t even bother to wait for Tahon to stop before he slid off his back. His mind barely registered him dropping to the ground. The usual shock of impact didn’t reach him as magic cushioned his fall. His legs moved him forward, despite his mind stuck reading the scene. 

Nenara’s life force bleeding into Banal, reaching the breaking point. Blood pouring from the Forgotten One’s mouth, chest heaving, gurgles escaping in a river of blood: punctured lung. Right arm at a strange, limp angle: shattered. Multiple slash wounds and punctures: too much blood loss. 

Healing was as much an instinct to him as breathing, but his hands still shook. He saw tiny flashes of another man lying in his own blood if he closed his eyes. He could vaguely remember the cries of widows or children as he covered someone with a sheet. 

Lotus was barely aware of himself stopping beside Nenara. Only that suddenly he blinked and he was there. He looked at the pirate and back at the Inquisitor. Anymore and Nenara would compromise her own body. Moreover, Lotus couldn’t begin healing as long as she was using hers. The two forces would literally tear the body apart. 

He crouched, mind racing. He could try to shake her from her spell, make the concentration slip. But if that didn’t work…Nope, only one way then. 

“ _Ir abelas_ , Nenar, try not to punch me too hard, aye?” Lotus mumbled. He gathered magic in between two fingers. He focused it into a needle until a neat, thin point sprang up. He crab walked forward. His left hand hovered over Banal’s body as he shifted so he could get at Nenara’s unprotected neck. 

With a doctor’s practiced precision, Lotus drove the needle into her neck, into the nerves. Her body instantly locked up. The spell broke as he paralyzed her. In the same moment, he slammed his hand down on Banal’s chest, blue light flooding over him. It sunk into his wounds, seeped into his body. It froze the cells, trying desperately to force the damage to stop. 

Someone grabbed Nenara’s body before she could hit the ground. Lotus began another spell, searching the body for damage. His eyes misted over with blue as he lost all sight of the actual world. 

Banal’s body lit up brightly, reds where blood flowed freely; green where bones were fractured or broken; and purple for muscle and organ damage. His body was a mosaic, nearly everywhere a different color. It hurt to look at actually. But Lotus gritted his teeth and looked closer. 

Many veins and arteries bled, both internally and externally. One lung was damaged, a bone splintered into it. The shoulder muscle was in ribbons from the bits of bone. A few organs were nothing more than slices of meat from stab wounds. And those were just the blatant ones, the bright colors. 

Lotus diverted magic to those areas, stemming the tide so to speak. The magic “froze” the injuries, giving both of them some time. He started to push healing spells on them, cursing silently. Magic was a last resort in healing, especially as fast as he was pushing it. The areas would be so tender and fragile; Banal could just breathe and risk reopening his lung. 

Lotus blinked, diffusing the spell on his eyes. “Medical tent, now,” He barked at the soldiers gathered. Arvaan jumped and began looking around the courtyard. There weren’t any tents, but there were a few rooms. If you could get to one, anyway. He picked the least battered door and jogged to it. 

He tried the handle. Locked. Well, that was an easy fix. He took a step back and braced his foot against the handle. A few solid kicks broke the bolt from the door. Only the door didn’t open. It was stuck on something inside. The blond elf shoved his shoulder against the wood and it only moved a few inches. He spat vile curses to the spirits just as a large hand clasped his shoulder. 

“Allow me,” Bull gently moved the elf aside. Sure the Elvhen were strong, but bigger was always better. Bull braced his shoulder and shoved. Scrapes and screeches echoed from the tiny room as debris or perhaps a barricade skidded back. 

Once Arvaan could slip inside, he looked around. Sand and furniture had blocked the door, probably thrown there by desperate Wardens. Another door, hidden, probably led to an escape route or something. The room itself had bunks and a few tables with chairs: a barrack. Most of the beds were broken or covered with sand and rock, but a few looked usable. 

Bull and Sula worked to remove the barricade while Arvaan righted a desk and table near one of the few usable beds. They could bring Lotus’s alchemical and medical things and set most of it up on a table at least. 

Back outside, Lotus was still cursing. A headache started to form in the back of his head. Cords of his muscles locked as he fought the delicate battle of healing. He could only heal so much without completely letting go of the freezing spell. Banal’s magic had begun to try and heal itself, which meant it was trying to dispel that freezing spell. All of which added up to Lotus’s concentration being split three ways. 

He really wished he could drink again. After this, Banal was going to owe him big time. 

“Tahon, move him.” Lotus wasn’t even trying to play nice. He almost sounded like a Commander. Perhaps he was. After all, everyone knew to listen to a doctor when on his turf. 

The duelist had jumped down after Lotus and stood with a troubled expression at all the blood soaking the ground. Even in the darkness of the night, the amount of blood could be seen as a glinting black pool so thick the sand and stones couldn’t absorb it. 

Tahon jumped at his name, blinking quickly. This was war; people got hurt in war, even grumpy old gods. He kept reminding himself he had seen plenty worse than this. Hell he had taken a wooden beam through his gut and still managed at least three bad jokes. The old man could take this. 

He took a deep breath. Lifting people was harder than lifting boulders. You had to keep them stable everywhere to avoid jostling them. Which could spell death in Banal’s case. Boulders, on the other hand, didn’t really care. Then throw in a Veil and keeping the magic even became nigh impossible. 

Of course, he had trained to perform under a Veil, to twist it subtly, to skirt around it. Which made him the best suited for lifting the Inquisitor. Plus he was good at levitation; it made for fun pranks and shenanigans, not to mention the handiness in battle. But that was beside the point. 

Light green and gold swirled around his hands as he concentrated. Tendrils flew from them, wrapping around Banal. The duelist focused on his breathing. Tension would make the magic hard, uneven. 

Slowly, he moved the magic, supporting certain areas more firmly like the head. He focused on keeping the spell soft and loose. Like lazing on a cloud, he thought. 

Carefully, he lifted his hands. The Inquisitor’s body floated in accord. Tahon’s hands shook, teeth biting his lower lip in concentration. 

Lotus kept his palm flat on Banal’s chest, standing as he was lifted. All his thoughts were on stopping the blood. Banal was getting more determined to heal himself. His magic, like Vhena’s and An’nas’s, you couldn’t say no to; it battered and bashed on Lotus’s spell, cracking it, which meant more thought went to pressing the wounds closed than to actually healing them. 

Slowly or maybe it was quickly, hard to tell when you were fighting a battle, they moved into the room. Tahon carefully laid Banal on the bed Arvaan had prepared. He waited until Lotus had once again started his fluttering of hands, shifting from one wound to the next with little comprehension of the outside world. Then the duelist spun on his heel and walked out to the courtyard. 

Everyone seemed to be in shock; unsure what was happening or what to do. Tahon was in that boat too. But years of training to command soldiers in a war, years he spent on battlefields, masked it. Instincts took over. 

“Sula, Arvaan start bringing Lotus supplies, whatever can be spared.” He barked out. “Commander Tabris is the highest ranking Warden so she’s in charge of you lot,” Tahon shot a glare at the Wardens gathered, “Someone find Commander Cullen and inform him what is happening.” People began to snap out of their daze and scurried to fulfill his orders. 

“And what do you suppose we do?” someone asked in a quiet voice. Tahon looked at the Circle and the others who had yet to leave. His eyes were hard gold orbs. 

“Wait. And pray to whatever you think will listen.” 

***** 

Lotus finally emerged from the room as the sun rose above the horizon. He started to rub at his face, but stopped seeing his hands coated with blood. So he opted to sigh loudly. And his job wasn’t even done yet. 

The Inquisition Circle had waited patiently outside. Now they slowly went to the healer. Worry and panic wracked their hearts and minds as the Lotusmaker washed his hands in a basin. His face was pale, dark circles under his eyes. His rolled shirtsleeves stained with fresh blood, his silken vest no better. He looked like he fought an entire war by himself. Perhaps he did. 

“So what’s the prognosis, Doc?” Varric asked quietly. Lotus sighed as he splashed water on his face to get the sweat off. 

“Three broken ribs, one of which splintered and punctured a lung, a shattered shoulder blade, a cracked hip and more bruises and cuts than a wyvern victim.” The healer stated in a tired manner. He rubbed his eyes. He felt like he was hungover, except he hadn’t drank alcohol for some thousand years. “And there was also some internal bleeding, damage done to some of his other organs, but that’s small stuff.” 

The Circle quietly went over his list again. The injuries were extensive. “That bad?” Varric winced, thinking he could have done something different. Perhaps if he hadn’t brought Hawke into this, Smiley wouldn’t be on Death’s doorstep. 

Lotus looked at the group now. Everyone was tired. Sleep eluded everyone it seemed, whether from the desert heat or the aftermath of the battle. “Normally it wouldn’t be a problem to heal even that extensive of injuries. I’ve done it before, hell I’ve treat actual wyvern victims with worse injuries just fine before.” He sincerely wished it was just another wyvern victim. 

“But the Inquisitor’s special?” Bull prodded. 

Oh he’s special alright, a special kind of pain in the ass, Lotus thought in his head. 

“The problem’s not with his injuries, but with Banal himself. He only remains stable for a short period of time.” 

“What do you mean stable?” Cassandra asked. She wished she had argued for the elf to take a warrior with him. He often drew too much attention, and she kept thinking she could have shielded him. The others gave blurry details of what happened in the Fade, so she had no clue about how he had turned demon/spirit. 

“Remember what I said about Fade and Life magic? How our three Lavellans don’t keep theirs separate? Well Nenar gives him her Life magic, to replenish it. His body in turn should use it to keep his heart steady while he drifts in Uthenera to recover his magic, which would then heal his body. 

“Banal, the pain in my ass,” Lotus pinched the bridge of his nose as his weariness made his tongue sharp, “instead uses the magic to try and heal himself, so his heart starts to give out again before I can do much work. And Nenara has to stabilize him again, which she can’t keep doing every two hours.” 

Everyone remained silent. They felt powerless. Their Inquisitor was dying and they couldn’t do a thing. Other people were literally giving their lives to ward away death, but they couldn’t do anything. It was the first time since Haven was lost that they felt helpless. 

“Is there anything we can do?” Blackwall asked solemnly. He wasn’t a healer and certainly no mage, but there had to be something. Even if it was just fetching water or lifting something heavy, there had to be something that would help. 

The Lotusmaker looked at each of their faces. He watched as despair morphed into conviction as they all let the Warden’s words sink in. They were tough sons of bitches, he’d give them that. Apparently they didn’t want to roll over and cry themselves to sleep. Which was good considering the Grey Wardens and the Inquisition soldiers were all panicking without the Inquisitor. 

He let out a long breath from his nose. “You? Not with Banal…But…If you have any skill at tending to wounds, there’s a lot of injured. Commander Tabris is instructing the Wardens until Banal recovers I think; she might have things you can do.” He shrugged. He wasn’t a leader kind of person. He was pretty sure he was the worst choice for a leader too. An’nas often complained that Lotus would just show him once and then throw him off the cliff and see if he could fly. It worked for birds didn’t it? 

“Is there something we can do to help you?” Cassandra emphasized the last word. 

The tall elf scratched the back of his neck. “Don’t know how you’d go about it, but I need lyrium, a lot of it. And some felandaris on the off chance he pulls through.” 

“The demon weed?” Solas’s eyebrows went up. 

“Aye. When properly prepared, it can be used as a powerful sleeping potion. I have only a small vial with me at present.” 

The bald elf nodded in understanding. Elvhen could heal from mortal wounds given enough sleep. It was sort of like Uthenera, only they’d wake up eventually. The mortals, however, frowned in confusion. 

“I understand wanting him to sleep, but how powerful are we talking here?” The Iron Bull asked skeptically. 

“Powerful enough to keep him under for a few days at a time. He’ll heal faster and easier that way. But with the Veil, I don’t want to let him sleep any longer and I’ll probably need more elfroot, embrium, prophet’s laurel, dawn lotus, and a few other plants to make some more balm just in case.” 

“Balm?” 

“Banal is an Elder and has been in Uthenera many times, so I doubt he’ll need it, but I want to be safe, just in case the Veil makes it harder for the Fade to sustain him.” Lotus rambled on without hearing any of their questions. 

“Make a list and the Seeker and I will work with Josephine and the Griffon’s Keep to get you your things.” Varric interrupted the healer’s ramblings. Lotus blinked but bowed his head slightly. 

“ _Ma serannas_ ” 

“Anything else?” 

Lotus puckered his lips and then began to bite them in thought. He had discussed it with Nehnlin and Tahon, sure, but he didn’t think the mortals would like his idea. They seemed rather jumpy and close-minded about things. “I need Lady Sama,” He stated carefully. The dwarf cocked an eyebrow and got that smirk on his face that said he was going to make a joke. “And no, not like that Varric,” Lotus bit out quickly. Though he wouldn’t say she wouldn’t be a welcomed sight. 

“Oh? So in what way do you mean?” The dwarf chuckled at the light blush that made the healer’s scar darken. 

Lotus looked to the side. “The problem is that Banal’s cells automatically try to heal themselves whenever he gets stable, aye? Neither me nor Nenar are able to manipulate functions on a cellular level.” 

“But you two are healers…” Blackwall asked. Magic made his head hurt, especially Elvhen magic. 

“All we do is speed up the process by giving the cells more energy or magic. We can’t stop the natural healing process no more than we can make the clouds rain.” 

“So where does Lily fit into all this?” Varric had a bad, sinking feeling in his gut. Lotus took a moment to toss the words around. 

“Blood mages can manipulate not just the blood, but the cells inside the body. If properly trained, they can control everything about the body, right down to cellular functions like healing.” 

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. Blood magic…how was that going to help? Wasn’t blood magic the reason why they were here in the first place? “No blood mage can control it that precisely, and moreover why would they want to?” Blood magic was chaotic and wild, uncontrollable like anything having to do with demons. 

“And what’s stopping her from just putting a demon inside of him?” This time Vivienne spoke up. Lotus took a deep breath. 

“For one, out of all the people here, including Varric and the other dwarves, Banal is the least likely to be possessed.” Varric, Dorian and Solas all shared a look as they remembered the Fade. Indeed, the demons were frightened of Banal. “For two, Sama has done this thing before with Vhena.” 

They all blinked, minds conjuring images of her mischievous smirk and memories of Banal stating she was poisoned. “What do you mean?” 

“When Vhena was poisoned, I had to make the antidote, aye? But by the time I got it prepared, the poison had already been absorbed into her body like all poison or venom. It was damaging her cells and the antidote wouldn’t be absorbed quickly enough even if I injected it. 

“But Sama and I theorized that she could manipulate Vhena’s blood to slow the poison and speed up the antidote’s absorption rate. It’s a powerful ritual, takes a lot of blood to do it, but in the end, Sama stopped the poisoned cells, stopped the bleeding in her lungs, and fused the antidote into Vhena’s very cells.” Lotus, despite himself, got very excited talking about it even though it happened eons ago. He talked with his hands as a light shimmered in his eyes. 

“Do you understand what that means?” He paused only to take a breath. “Vhena is entirely immune to that poison. Her body now produces cells that can fight that poison the moment it enters her system.” Then he seemed to realize he was going doctor on them and probably no one found it interesting. “Anyway, she knows the ritual and how to do it in practice. It’ll be a bit different, but I think that’s the only way we’re going to get to keep the Inquisitor.” 

Everyone stood in silence again. Their expressions ranged from enraged, to suspicious to disbelief. This was just crazy. How would more blood magic help? Besides, blood magic was never worth the cost. And there was no such thing as responsible blood magic. Dorian’s mouth tasted sour just thinking of such a ritual. 

“No absolutely not, there has to be another way!” Cassandra growled. The black-eyed healer ran his tongue over his teeth. “I will not allow it; there are too many risks.” Several of the humans nodded in agreement. There was always another way that didn’t involve blood magic. 

“Aye, there might be,” Lotus conceded, looking off to the side. When he looked back at them, his eyes hardened. The healer that was always so approachable, friendly suddenly seemed like a different person. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time to think of something else. And I already asked Nehnlin to go get Sama.” 

A griffon’s cry sounded around them just as the words left his mouth. Everyone’s head snapped up, seeing the golden glint of feathers rising above the fortress. With a few mighty beats of his wings, Nehnlin took off towards Skyhold. 

***** 

Nehnlin’s flight was clumsy. He had taken a rather hard knock to his left shoulder by something. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure what had hit him, whether it was a rock or an arrow. It just hurt. He was pretty sure though, that he’d pay for shifting later. 

But he’d rather lose his arm and save Banal than keep it and lose the man who might as well be his uncle. The sun started to climb up into the sky by the time his wings pushed him up over a mountain. He spotted Tarasyl’an. Tahon told stories of the place, how it spanned an entire mountain range. Now it was just a tiny fortress nestled away in the mountains, hidden and protected, but hardly grand. 

Nehnlin let out a loud cry as he neared. People began to look up at him. His eyes darted from face to face, searching for Samahlnan. She, of course, was just stepping out onto Vivienne’s balcony. Vhena and An’nas were beside her. 

Shit. 

Lotus was quite clear the twins were not (he had stressed the “not”) to know what was happening with their father. They could be…emotional to say the least. Irrational was another polite term. Downright temperamental and damn near demonic were the terms that Nehnlin came up with to describe what happened when they became emotionally distraught about something. Their father in particular was a soft spot. 

So, he had to be careful. And tactful. And subtle. Which he totally was not. He might have been a rogue, but Sulahn’mi had more tact and subtlety than he did and she hefted a giant ass sword around. 

He descended. The turbulence jarred his shoulder, setting him off kilter. His body shifted too quickly. His breath left him in a whoosh as his ribs collided with the banister. Hands grabbed ahold of him as he clung to the stone. 

“ _Fenedhis, N’lin!_ ” An’nas muttered, pulling him over the edge easily. He set him down on his feet. “ _Why are you flying drunk?_ ” 

“ _I wish I was drunk, da’nas,_ ” Nehnlin managed through gritted teeth. He wrapped an arm around his ribs. Nothing felt like it was grating so he didn’t break anything. Wind pressed against his shoulder, chilling the wetness that came from it. So it must have been an arrow, he though absently. 

“ _You’re bleeding,_ ” Samahlnan remarked nonchalantly like she was saying he had green eyes. 

“ _Ma serannas for that update, seth’lin,_ ” he snorted. An’nas looked over at this shoulder and winced. “ _Just a little scratch. I’ve gotten worse from brambles._ ” 

“ _N’lin, that’s an arrow wound,_ ” Vhena’s face was starting to turn white. Her ears were perked like An’nas's, tips quivering as they listened to whatever it was they heard. An’nas had tried to explain it once, but Nehnlin understood exactly nothing, save lying was next to impossible. 

A jolt of electricity swarmed the wound. Nehnlin hissed as it broke up the magic his shift had built around it. Once it was chipped away, a soothing coolness ran over it, leaving small tingles in its wake. 

“So what’s so important that you had to fly here with an arrow wound?” Samahlnan asked. Her blue eyes narrowed, reading his face as she would anyone at court. Her head slightly cocked, her bangs brushed the downy fennec fur she draped around her shoulders. 

“Lotus needs you, _seth’lin_ ,” Nehnlin grabbed her wrist and tugged her towards the edge. 

“For what?” 

“Don’t ask questions, just come on.” A familiar prickle in his skull alerted him. He slammed down barriers, eyes growing wide. He looked over at the twins. An’nas’s eyes were narrowed suspiciously, a frown tugging at his lips. Vhena’s head cocked curiously. Nehnlin’s heart picked up pace, catching a brief flicker of power igniting between them. Shit he hated when they were next to each other. “Come on,” He growled, tugging at Sama again. She stumbled a step forward. 

Then a wicked storm of ice and lightning broke through his barriers. A few curses probably fell out of his lips as they rooted about for his distress. Nehnlin’s face drew up in a wince as both their eyes widened. Their breaths caught; tears shimmered in Vhena’s eyes as she shared a look with An’nas. 

In a split second and a flurry of feathers, An’nas shifted. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Lotus is so going to kill me…” Nehnlin grumbled, watching a snowy owl fly off. 

Samahlnan blinked, looking at a very distraught Vhena and then back to Nehnlin. “What’s going on?” She asked/demanded. She ripped her wrist away. Carefully, like touching broke glass, she wrapped her arms around Vhena who was shaking. 

He supposed with the wolf out of the trap, there was no reason to keep her in the dark now. “Banal’s…not doing so hot. He kinda looks like he got eaten by a dragon and shat back out and Lotus can’t keep up with the damage ‘cause you know…” He motioned towards Vhena. “Lavellans are weird.” 

Samahlnan frowned at his choice of words, but nodded. “Let me get a few things before I cling to your back.” 

Nehnlin gave her a dubious look. “Seriously, _seth’lin_? You aren’t going on vacation.” 

She rolled her eyes. “No, but I doubt Banal wants to wear torn and bloody clothes and then I don’t walk around with a knife bound in uncomfortable places like some people I know.” 

“We just fought a battle; there are plenty of knives—“ 

“N’lin, just shut up and let me go get my things.” Samahlnan glared. He rolled his eyes and made a show of sealing his lips. But he still spoke, hands flying about to form words. “Now that’s just rude.” 

He grinned triumphantly. 

“You can help him…right?” Vhena’s voice was small, on the verge of tears. Both of them softened. 

“Of course, lovey. I won’t let him go to the Void.” Samahlnan smiled sweetly. “He still owes me a dress.” She got a laugh out of the girl. A small, choked laugh, but a laugh still. Sama hugged her tightly. 

“Seriously, _seth’lin_ , that was what? A thousand and some odd years ago? Let it go.” Nehnlin rolled his eyes. 

Samahlnan dismissed him with her hand. “I won the card game, fair and square, and it would diminish his dignity as a commander if he didn’t honor all his debts.” She giggled before sobering, “If you could go to my room and get the dagger on the table and the bowl on the dresser, I’ll fetch our dear Inquisitor some clothes.” 

Nehnlin sighed, following her back inside. He knew full well she would not relent on her need for that specific dagger and that specific bowl. She might talk like a noblewoman, act like one, walk like one, but she still held the superstitions of her birth. And the bowl and dagger she used in the ritual to save Vhena would be considered lucky ritual things. Or perhaps they had weird blood magic spells and runes on them that let her do the spell. Who knows? Who cares? 

All he knew was An’nas was going to be a pissed off puppy when he landed, Nehnlin was going to be skinned by Lotus, and Banal better damn well be grateful for all this trouble. 

***** 

An owl’s cry caught everyone’s attention. Owls didn’t usually come out this early. More over where would one roost in the desert? Or in the old ruined fortress for that matter? 

Then a griffon answered the sound. Everyone turned to look. A snowy owl quickly descended, almost like it was going to dive bomb a fish in a river. Then magic, a light purple lightning sort of magic pulled around it. Its form shone with a bright light before it morphed. An’nas’s feet hit the stones, cracks splintering out from the impact. 

He straightened and suddenly everyone realized he was actually Banal’s son. His eyes glared as he wore a pissed off expression. He was breathing hard and shaking slightly. Something told Varric that Speckles found out about his father. And he wasn’t too happy about it. 

Thankfully, Tahon was sitting with Nenara in the shade near Banal’s room. He was trying to coax the battle-healer to drink some more lyrium and eat something. His father had shooed him away from the infirmary they created here in the fort. Which stung yes, but Tahon wasn’t the greatest healer around, so he couldn’t really argue against it. 

He lifted his head as he felt a strange prickled inside his veins that told him An’nas was around, and the only thought running in his head was: Oh Fuck. He had jumped to his feet and followed that prickle before he could even think. 

Sure enough he found An’nas in the middle of the fort with his best angry wyvern impression on. ‘Dammit, Nehnlin, you had one job!’ He thought bitterly. If An’nas was here, then both he and Vhena knew that Banal…might not make it back. Tahon winced thinking of his sister-in-law’s face. She was probably crying right about now… 

Not that his bondmate wasn’t a concern either. Through their bond, he could feel that dark…thing bubbling to the surface as An’nas clung to his anger. 

Tahon quickly jogged to his mate. “ _Hallalin_ ” He greeted with a soft voice. Which just made An’nas turn that deadly glare to him. His blood ran cold as he noted little speckles of black in the corners of his eyes. Damn, and Tahon had a joke all lined up too. 

“Where’s Father?” An’nas snapped quite loudly. Everyone seemed to be frozen in place as lightning charged the air. Almost like they were waiting to find out where the bolt struck. 

He looked up and saw Nehnlin starting to descend. Samahlnan’s flamboyant attire was hard to miss upon his back. Well at least, she was here. 

People were all starting to stare at An’nas, who never could really talk when he was that upset. Tahon knew he was just scared, and covered it up with rage. “Hey, _hallalin_ ” He tried again. “Come here.” He smiled as he grabbed his shoulder and pulled him closer. An’nas was stiff as Tahon wrapped his arms around him, very aware of everyone watching. Some of the more religious shemlens shifted uncomfortably. “You still suck at greetings.” Tahon chuckled as he put his chin on his mate’s head. 

Slowly tension started to leak out of his body. An’nas turned his face into the duelist’s neck. “There. Better?” Tahon moved to smile at his bard. “And the old man is in that room,” He nodded his head towards the door. “Lotus is in there with him right now, so we shouldn’t disturb him.” 

Vaguely they were aware of Nehnlin and Samahlnan approaching. “How is he?” An’nas asked very quietly. 

“Hey, now, give the old man some credit; he’s as stubborn as a mountain.” Tahon winced internally when his bondmate glared wearily at him before laying his head back against him. Tahon tightened his arms around him. “Lotus and Nenar have been trading off and on since he got out of the Fade.” 

“And that was?” 

“A little after midnight.” They fell into silence. It was now mid-morning. An’nas doubted Nenara was taking very long breaks between her shifts, and that was just as dangerous as Lotus not taking any. “They were in there for a while…” 

“Who? Where?” 

“The old man and his group in the Fade. Had to be around ten when I got the news that the bridge collapsed and a Rift opened.” Two hours at least…in the Fade. An’nas shuddered. He wasn’t afraid; his father trained him quite well on how to walk safely in his dreams. He and Vhena often explored together. But if just two hours in the place that didn’t use to be a place left his father a broken mess…He didn’t ever want to go there physically. 

“Do you know what happened in there?” An’nas pulled back. His fear wasn’t gone, nor was his anger. But they were simmering again. His hands fisted around Tahon’s surcoat. 

“The group that was with him is still trying to sort it all out, and with the old man knocking on the Void’s door, there hasn’t been any time to get the reports. So…we just have a vague impression of all hell breaking loose.” 

“ _Da’dahn’direlan!_ ” Nehnlin growled. The boy had damn near killed himself forcing a shift that fast and then booking it at break-neck-speed to a fortress he had never been to. Getting lost in a desert was the least of the problems all of that provided. 

An’nas lifted his head to glare. His blood boiled a tad as he thought of Nehnlin, who was like an older brother to him, hiding the fact that his father was dying. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Nehnlin frowned. “Can you blame us for wanting to keep it secret when you just took off like that?” 

“He’s right, ‘Nas, not only could you have damaged your body, you could’ve gotten lost, never to be found.” Samahlnan was far calmer than the rogue. Her arms were crossed, but other than that she was relaxed. 

“I know how to read a map, Sama,” An’nas snarled. He had studied the map in the War Room a lot since his father had left for Adamant. He had traced all the paths the army would and could take to get to it. Where the cliffs were, where they might make camp, everything just so if he had to, he could get to them no matter what. 

“And you also know the desert shifts, and when it does, you sometimes cannot discern one thing from another.” She narrowed her eyes. Lotus exited the room at that moment. He blinked and squinted at the sun. Blood was a stark contrast to the white of his shirt and the pale olive of his skin. 

“What’s all the racket—,” He started grumbling before his eyes fell on their little group. 

“Speckles and Lily are here, Doc,” Varric said helpfully. Lotus frowned at his pupil. 

“Aye, I can see that.” Lotus turned to glare at Nehnlin who had enough decency to look sheepish. 

“Hey he and Vhena ganged up on me, like I could fuck with _nas’falon_.” He grumbled. Lotus rolled his eyes as he walked up to them. 

“You’re fired.” He growled. His gaze softened by a slight degree as he turned to Samahlnan. “At least he got you here in one piece.” 

“Well, he did try to throw me a few times,” Sama chuckled. 

“I saved your life missing those birds,” Nehnlin growled. 

“And are lucky I haven’t eaten today, otherwise you’d be cleaning your feathers.” The rogue glared at the threat. Nothing pissed griffons off more than having to clean themselves after their rider soiled them. Sama grinned before turning to the healer. “We would’ve been here sooner, but I wanted to get Banal some clothes since I’m sure his can’t be considered clothing anymore.” 

“And you have weird superstitions.” Nehnlin grumbled under his breath. 

“What’s wrong with _Papae_?” An’nas demanded, stepping away from Tahon. The duelist unconsciously followed, keeping a hand on his shoulder. Lotus sighed tiredly. 

“A lot. I just sent Nenar back in to stabilize him again.” An’nas’s eyes flickered to the door and back, eyebrows knitting together. “So Sama, you need to start getting ready; he stays stable for two hours at most if I freeze the damage.” 

The blood mage nodded, “I have all that I need, save the blood.” She thought for a moment. “I doubt any of the _shemlen_ will volunteer. I might need a large amount from everyone.” 

“We’ll give as much as you need,” Tahon stated firmly. She smiled. 

“I know, and that is what troubles me. I do not relish the idea of killing blood-letters.” 

“We may not get a choice this time.” Lotus grumbled bitterly. “There’s a lot of damage.” 

“I can help,” An’nas nearly whispered. His heart beat a thousand times per minute, his hands shook. His gut twisted. A hopeless feeling curled around him like a cloak. He had to do something. His father couldn’t just die. He had things he needed to do still. 

Lotus didn’t even look at him, “No.” The word slapped An’nas across the face. His anger spiked. Just because he was an apprentice didn’t mean he couldn’t help. He could stitch the surface wounds or bandage him or something. 

“I can help!” An’nas yelled at his mentor. The healer clenched his jaw to keep from smacking his pupil. But it didn’t keep his tongue in check. 

“And do you not remember the last time you tried to heal these kind of injuries?!” Lotus snapped, throwing a hand towards Tahon. The duelist winced, his abdomen clenched at the memory. An’nas glanced at him then cast his eyes down. “You damn near caused more damage than the beam! I’ve told you time and time again, to just watch, learn so you can do it right the first time. You aren’t ready for this kind of shit; moreover your emotions are running your thick skull!” 

An’nas’s jaw twitched as he glared at the ground. He felt helpless, pathetic. What good was the ability to heal when he couldn’t even heal his own father? Tears prickled at his eyes. 

Tahon gently squeezed his hand. He gave him a crooked smile. What would’ve happened if his father hadn’t been able to heal Tahon? Or shown up when he did? An’nas’s father was always at the right spot at the right time it seemed. He showed up exactly when you needed him, even if it was only in spirit. 

Yet An’nas was always too late or too powerless. Even now, he was too late to help his father. 

Lotus took a deep breath to calm himself. It wasn’t the youngling’s fault. He just wanted to help. “An’nas, part of a healer’s job is to treat everyone the same,” Lotus repeated the words his father had told him many times during his training. “We can’t let our emotions cloud our judgment. Aye they can help, make us want to do anything to save a person, but what if you really think the guy is a bastard?” 

An’nas frowned. “I…probably wouldn’t try as hard.” He admitted. 

“Exactly, and when you get too emotional, your head stops working. Hate to tell ya, but your heart can’t think of how best to stitch a guy up.” Lotus shrugged. He took another breath. “If you want to help, help your bald father-in-law with the injured,” he motioned vaguely towards the area Solas kept to, “and if we can get Banal stable, then you can help me stitch him up. And lecture him when he wakes up.” 

An’nas sighed, shoulders sagging. It was something he supposed. “ _Ma nuvenin_ ”. 

Lotus made a shooing motion with his hands as Tahon joked, “Oh joys, working with my father! Yeah this won’t be awkward as hell.” The duelist put his arm around his shoulder and started to lead him towards the makeshift infirmary. 

“I don’t guarantee I don’t punch your father,” An’nas said with no emotion. Tahon stopped and eyed his mate oddly. 

“Yeah okay we’ll stay on the opposite side…” 

***** 

“No, absolutely not!” Cassandra protested loudly. Lotus and Samahlnan both sighed. The healer was starting to feel the effects of no sleep. His head pounded sharply, his hand quivered occasionally. Sand coated his eyes. Yet he threw back another lyrium potion someone had found. He might have to let An’nas help Nenara stitch the surface wounds closed. He didn’t think he was going to be able to stand after he healed everything inside. 

“I’m not an inexperienced apprentice, Cassandra,” Samahlnan tried calmly; “I’ve done this before. All I need is a few blood-letters to share the cost.” 

“Tearing a soul from the Void is no small matter,” Lotus agreed, “Even if it’s only hovering at the edge.” After all, it took an entire village and a nest of dragons to actually tear Banal from the Void. This was hardly that extensive. 

Cassandra gritted her teeth, “How is more blood magic going to help? The Veil is already thin; you are just inviting danger in.” 

Samahlnan rolled her eyes. She plucked a few strands of hair from her blouse. “I know how to defend against demons. If you would prefer, Sula can stand guard to watch us.” That didn’t make the Seeker any happier. Varric could see it in how her jaw twitched. Sulahn’mi might be like the Seeker, but she was also an ally of Samahlnan. He doubted Sparrow would harm Lily even if she could. 

“There is always another way,” Cassandra tried again to get the elves away from this dangerous path. 

“Aye?” Lotus scoffed. “And what would you suggest? You don’t even understand how Banal’s magic truly works. So how would you fix it?” 

Cassandra balked. In truth, she had no ideas. Healing obviously wasn’t getting much accomplished. It was just depleting the two healers’ energy. An’nas might be able to make more progress, but Lotus had already banned him from doing anything other than the basics. 

Her eyes drifted over to the boy. He was sorting through the diminishing medical supplies. He and Solas had managed to treat most of the injured on both sides. The air about them was tense when you walked into the medical area, some unspoken agreement to ignore each other’s presence. Tahon kept between them most of the time. 

But Solas had commented that the boy was very talented at his craft. And powerful. He had gone through the injured, mending bones and flesh, magicking stitches and what have you with ease. And he hardly seemed tired. In fact, he still radiated power like Banal. 

“Perhaps, An’nas could fair better. His magic is much like Banal’s.” She attempted. Lotus followed her eyes. An’nas’s ears perked up and he had turned to the group. No doubt he sensed the anger and frustration. Lotus noticed his eyes narrowed, his lips frowned, and his magic flared as it tasted the air. 

“Nae. He is still an apprentice, not yet trained in the healing of delicate organs.” Lotus bit out. An’nas, having sensed the tension, started over towards them. Tahon followed closely, like a lost puppy. Or guard dog. 

“He could try,” Varric suggested, just to trying to get someone to give a little. This argument might turn into a brawl. Or Smiley might just bite the bolt before they agree. 

“I have. And I nearly killed Tahon.” An’nas’s voice cut through the air. His expression was dark as he held his head up high to glare at them. “I did it too fast and didn’t stop quickly enough. Too much power.” 

“Aye, and just because he knows what he did wrong doesn’t mean he should try again. Banal’s not here to fix it this time.” Lotus crossed his arms. They all blinked. 

“Father is quite skilled as a healer, though he hardly uses it.” An’nas gave. 

“I’m still an apprentice compared to him. Though he’s not as good with poisons as me.” 

“And he uses magic almost exclusively, which, according to Lotus, does far more harm than good.” An’nas crossed his arms as Tahon wrapped his arms around him, both to anchor him and to keep him from vaulting over to strangle the humans. “Is this about blood magic?” He cut straight to the problem he felt swirling around. 

Fear and anger pounded against his ears, crawled up his skin. He scratched at his cloth around his hand. He was glad to have his back. As much a comfort as the necklace was when Tahon was away, he always felt naked without something around his palm. 

“I do not see how the benefits of this plan outweigh the risks.” Cassandra stated. 

“We don’t even know if this will actually work,” Vivienne piped in. “Just because it worked once does not guarantee it will again. Blood magic especially.” 

An’nas gritted his teeth. The emotions in the air bombarded him, stripped him of any restraint. Not to mention he was still on edge. His father lay dying a few dozen feet from him and he could do nothing. Yet these mortals, people whom barely understood magic and the Fade, were denying him the only way that stood a chance of saving their Inquisitor. 

“Apparently, shemlen have yet to figure out what ‘win by any means necessary’ truly is,” An’nas growled, cutting off further whines. “And while you stand here bitching about ethics, your Inquisitor lays dying; **my father** lays dying and you assholes would deny him healing out of fear bred into you by frightened idiots!” 

Black started to spread into the whites of his eyes. His pupils turned to slits. His whole body became tense with rage. 

Tahon felt the whirlwind building around him. His arms tightened around his mate. It was more to hold him from lunging at someone’s throat, but also to provide some level of comfort. “ _Hallalin_ …” he warned gently. An’nas took a deep breath, pushing away the dark feeling inside him. He scratched his left palm absently, untangling the cloth so the mark underneath peeked through. He tried to think logically, pushing away the tornado of emotions. 

“Damn your morals and ethics to the Void,” He said through gritted teeth. “I will not let my father die just because a bunch of _shemlen_ were too hypocritical.” Cassandra’s mouth opened, but An’nas held his hand up, flashing them the dark mark. Solas’s eyes narrowed on it. Banal had that very mark long before the Anchor. “You are not in charge of my father’s people;” The young elf tilted his chin up, a white mirror of his father, “I am. And I say Sama will do the spell. You can take your objections and shove them up a dragon’s ass for all I care.” 

His eyes went to the blood mage. She and Lotus had proudly bemused smiles on their faces. Then they bowed as they would to Banal. “ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” Samahlnan said as she straightened. She flashed a polite smile to the humans before she walked away to gather her materials. 

Lotus chuckled. “I’ll start making some potions while she prepares then,” He bowed slightly again and walked over to the supplies. The Seeker locked eyes with the Inquisitor’s son, but found him just as unyielding as his father. Perhaps more so as his eyes seemed to look through her. 

Varric’s eyes darted between the two as the air became charged. Cassandra dared to speak, “You can’t ignore the risks you are taking—“ 

“Believe it or not, Lady Cassandra, I am capable of thinking things through.” He jeered. “I know there to be a slight possibility Lady Sama could get possessed while performing this sort of spell. However, given the fact that she is over three thousand years old with no record of possession, I will take that risk.” 

Tahon turned his face to kiss An’nas’s head to hide his own smirk. Such a vicious little halla. 

“She could very well summon a demon just to possess your father—“ Vivienne tried as though she was talking to an unruly apprentice of the age of eight. 

“Demons nor spirits can possess him, nor me, nor my sister. Our magic…repulses them. Moreover, Lady Vivienne, all you are doing is repeating the same pathetically black-and-white mantras that have been beaten into you since birth.” He turned to look at all the companions. He didn’t care for their approval; his father was the one who had to put up with them and Vhena was far too nice to ever tell them what she thought. 

An’nas, however, wasn’t Vhena. The Heart and Soul might be two halves of the same whole, but the Soul told the truth more than the Heart. The Heart lied and hid. 

“Magic exists to serve man, but never to rule over him,” He quoted with venom. “That very sentence I could write an entire book on the possible meanings and still not have a conclusive answer. It is filled with enough holes to be a colony of rats,” He spoke his words slowly, looking directly at each of the humans’ disapproving eyes. “Watch, I’ll show you one. Lady Sama serves man by healing your Inquisitor. She uses her magic to strike at the foes of the Inquisition. 

“Yet just because her magic is fueled by blood, she’s evil and can do no good. She obviously is a demon worshipper who just whines and cries to a demon every time she wants power. Because that’s obviously all she wants: power. So she’s branded a maleficar by people who don’t even get to know her.” He crossed his arms and glared at Vivienne. 

“Magic of any kind is dangerous, yes, but news flash **I** have been practicing magic for over eight hundred years and was still considered an apprentice.” He paused to let that idea sink in. “Elvhen don’t fuck around with magic, Blood, Fade, Life, or Void. Healing can kill just as much as Blood Magic can heal; get used to it.” 

An’nas moved out of Tahon’s embrace and stormed off somewhere. Tahon knew he shouldn’t be turned on by his lover’s anger but damn. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t find the commanding side of his little halla sexy. 

Tahon then turned to the group. All who looked like An’nas had bitch slapped each of them. “So, you pissed him off,” He chuckled, finding this all very amusing; mostly because he agreed with his mate. The humans were so jumpy around magic; they’d never survive in their time. And honestly, the ones who were least likely to get possessed were the Elvhen. 

Unlike the humans, Elvhen knew how to interact with spirits and demons safely. Demons were to be avoided. Spirits, so long as you didn’t make them go against their nature, were fine. But oh no, spirits bad! Spirits demons! Chant of Light! Blah blah blah. 

Varric fidgeted at the tense atmosphere, before he looked at the duelist. “So…random question—“ 

“I’m good at random answers.” Tahon smirked and winked. So the dwarf wanted to diffuse the situation. He’d let him. Maybe a calmer (a word he never imagined would be directed towards himself) elf would clarify the rather brash and abrasive points of his mate. 

“Do apprenticeships ever end with you guys?” 

Tahon blinked. “Well, yes they do. But see, you aren’t considered an adult until your first millennia.” Varric’s head was already spinning. Yes, he had gotten passed the weird feeling he got whenever he thought of having friends who measured time in centuries and millennia. But it was a whole other thing to talk about it. 

“Uh…huh,” Bull grumbled. He still didn’t believe a lick of this. “So what? Before that you are a kid?” 

Tahon laughed, looking the Qunari in the eye without even looking up, “No. From birth to the first century, you are a child. First century to fifth century, you are adolescence. And fifth century to the first millennia, you’re a young adult.” Tahon smiled. “Once you hit three millennia, you are considered an Elder.” And once you were passed your fourth millennia, you were old as fuck and should think about Uthenera. 

“And you are…?” 

“Nine hundred, three months, and six weeks.” The dwarf and Qunari blinked. And he was still an apprentice? “No, I wasn’t an apprentice. My apprenticeship ended when I earned my first sword.” 

Most of the other companions had wandered away, most likely to grumble and lick their wounds An’nas had awarded them. Speaking of the halla, Tahon should find him to make sure he didn’t go all weird demon varghast on the humans. 

“As much as I enjoy our conversations,” Tahon cut off their questions, “but I’m afraid I have a very unstable husband to find before someone loses their head.” 

Varric laughed at that. “Yeah, Speckles seemed a bit unstable there.” And a whole lot like Banal…The dwarf shivered remembering the Fade’s ordeals. “So when do you think Lily will be ready?” 

Tahon looked up at the sky, judging the position of the sun. “Probably at high noon, so try and keep the Seeker from doing something stupid.” He began walking away so Varric almost missed the “I’d hate to have to decapitate her.” 

Varric blinked. The happy-go-lucky duelist sounded far too serious…and way too dangerous for it not to be taken seriously. 

***** 

Everything was ready. Well sorta, Lotus still had one more thing to do before they got started. The area around Banal’s room had been cleared out of everyone save for the Elvhen and the Circle. The latter were milling about with unhappy looks. They stayed far from their Elvhen companions. There was quite literally a large divide between the two factions. 

Samahlnan and Sulahn’mi talked in one corner near Banal’s room. Sula assured the blood mage she would not let anyone interfere with the ritual, whether or not she had to use violence. Nehnlin sat on one of the steps overlooking the entire area, keeping an eye on all the shemlen. Tahon sat with An’nas tucked away on his lap, keeping him as calm as possible to avoid another incident. The others took up positions near the room, on edge as to be expected. 

Cassandra debated with herself as she stared into the fire that was cooking lunch. Should she stay or should she just leave? She did not approve of this ritual at all. There had to be some way to save the Inquisitor without resorting to blood magic. All this just upset her stomach and unsettled her mind. Her Seeker instincts were blaring that she should stop this. 

And she could. She could use her gift and abilities to nullify the mages. The only problem with that was Arvaan and Sulahn’mi both were not mages, and in interacting with Sula, Cassandra learned that somehow she was like a Seeker: she didn’t use lyrium for her abilities. The Seeker had asked her how she came by her powers, and she just said that Banal taught her. He touched her mind and suddenly she could feel the magic and pull it into herself, a void. Which was absurd… 

She sighed again. She might be able to stop the mages, but she was quite sure Arvaan and Sula would put up quite the fight. Moreover, they were allies. Honestly, she didn’t think she stood much of a chance. She could nullify an area, but they spread themselves out. Each of them were skilled fighters and powerful mages. She’d strike down one, and three of them would be on top of her in no time. 

So she wondered if she should learn from Sera, Blackwall, and Bull’s example and just leave. Out of sight, out of mind right? But then she’d know what was going on and she wouldn’t be there if it went sour. Which it would. Blood magic always went south. 

In the end, she didn’t move from her spot. That was when she became aware of someone coming towards her and the others. They all looked up. 

Lotus approached, holding two fruits in his hands. A determined look graced his face as he stopped in front of Cassandra. The other elves watched him intensely like they were worried about him; Samahlnan especially. 

“Lady Seeker, if I may, I’d like to show you something,” He stated calmly, motioning to the fruits. 

“Show me what?” She sighed. This was yet another attempt at trying to get her to approve of blood magic. 

“How dangerous your black and white way of thinking is,” He held out the fruit to her glare. “Just let me show you something and you can punch me later if you still want to.” 

She rubbed her temples. Now she understood why some people turn to alcohol. “Fine,” she growled as she opened her eyes to glare at him. 

“I’m a healer, aye? You trust me with your life?” He waited for her to slowly nod as though it was a trick question. “That’ll get you into trouble.” Lotus presented her an apple. “This is your heart, hale and hearty. Even if I,” he pressed a nail into the side, slicing it open, “do this, it’s a simple fix.” Healing magic, a pale blue, wrapped around the wound and sealed it. “It’ll be weaker, bruised but you’ll live and your heart will heal itself over time.” 

Suddenly his black eyes turned dark. Again, he seemed to become someone else. An old pain lingered behind his eyes. He was rather intimidating actually, as he gazed steadily down at Cassandra. “Now if I continue to heal…” The magic flared again, wrapping and spiraling around the fruit. He watched them as they stared, transfixed by the apple, like watching the trebuchet throw its projectile at the mountain, or the avalanche that buried Haven, they knew disaster was unavoidable, but they couldn’t look away. 

The apple’s surface rippled. The edges shifted, moved, seemingly vibrated. In a blink of the eye, lumps and bumps popped up. “Healing magic speeds up the multiplying of cells. Cells naturally stop multiplying when they come into contact with each other or something else. So you don’t get any strange tumors,” His black gaze bore into them. The bumps multiplied, one on top of another at an alarming rate. 

“But keep feeding the cells magic, and they’ll continue to divide at a frightening rate,” The apple no longer looked like an apple, just the strange rippling mess. “At this point, you’d be dead; your heart would’ve given out, or perhaps your arteries would’ve sealed shut. But if by some miracle, you’re still alive…” He crouched so the lump was a mere two feet from the ground. He turned his hand and dumped the once fruit to the ground, eyes never leaving their faces. 

Solas’s stomach twisted, seeing how the young healer twisted his art to dark purposes. He did not know the healer’s past, but there was great pain in his eyes as he explained. Great pain and a great darkness that surely attracted Banal to him. 

Apple bits splattered everywhere in a brown mess. Cassandra’s breath stopped as she thought of the metaphor. “It wouldn’t take but a small amount of force to make your heart explode in your chest,” Lotus’s dark look remained as he stood back up. The way he looked down at them, reminded them of a noble looking down at bugs. 

He held out an orange. “This is your brain inside your skull. Now your skull is thicker and harder than an orange peel, but I couldn’t find a cantaloupe or watermelon, so forgive me for the improvisation,” He studied the orange a bit. “But same thing. Even if I crack the peel, your skull, it’s a simple fix. The trouble lies on healing the brain,” He looked back up at his audience. 

“As far as I know it’s only been attempted perhaps a few dozen times and only succeeded a handful. The brain is tricky, it controls everything, stores everything. Damage it and it’s hard to put the pieces back together. But more to the point, it is so delicate and it’s contained in a relatively small area. 

“So what do you think would happen,” He began to pump healing magic into that poor fruit, “if I heal what isn’t broken?” The peel, like the apple, began to ripple. It wriggled. It writhed as the orange inside pressed on it. “What happens when the brain starts becoming too big for your skull? Your chest can expand; there’s a lot of room, but inside your skull? Oh no.” Cracks appeared in the peel, juices leaking out. Lotus frowned. “Already it’s cracking. Your skull would hold up much better…” He stopped just as the orange exploded. 

Everyone swallowed bile. If he could do that with fruits…They all looked at the healer as he licked the juices off his hand. Their stomachs clenched with dread as his disdainful gaze met their eyes. 

“Like I said, your skull would actually hold up a lot better. Your brain would essentially beat itself to death. You’d start bleeding out your nose, your ears, maybe your eyes. Then you’d just drop dead.” He shrugged like he was talking about the chances of it raining. “If I do it just right, limit it to one area, I can lobotomize you from the inside out. Or paralyze you permanently or any number of things.” 

He watched as the mortals’ faces drained of color. Their pupils dilated, indicating fear or anxiety. He probably just gave them all nightmares. Good. 

But he wasn’t finished. The darkness inside his eyes remained as he smirked bitterly. “I could also put these little magic needles inside it, target the nerves, and control you through them. Sounds strangely like blood magic doesn’t it?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Sure I can’t make you impale yourself on a sword, but hey I can shut off the impulses to your heart. 

“And aye, I’m a healer, and Sama’s an assassin. But you’d have to pay her to kill someone and even then she only uses blood magic on the assholes that rather deserve it.” He shrugged again. Then that dark look intensified. The air seemed to get colder, tenser. “Me? I’m not so nice.” 

With that threat still hanging in the air, he turned from them and walked back to Banal’s room. 

***** 

High noon came around sooner than anyone expected. Samahlnan came out of Banal’s room holding an old stone bowl; a beautiful dagger matched it with little runes carved into the blade. She had switched her shirt with Nehnlin’s fennec fur tunic so she wouldn’t ruin hers. It was looser than she had thought, and a lot longer in length. The main thing was its owner didn’t care if she got blood on it and it had no sleeves, even if it exposed her bare sides to the world. 

She took a deep breath, looking at the courtyard. All the Elvhen stood, looking at her. There was a calm and eerie silence: a silent agreement and acceptance of the cost. As she let out the breath, she walked to Sulahn’mi and Arvaan, who were nearest to her. 

“Ready, Sula?” She asked calmly. The Champion wet her lips, eye muscles jerking as she swallowed her nervous chirps. Her tangled mess of curls bobbed as she nodded. With one hand trying to keep her shirt covering her collarbone, (her shirt had taken a large slash across the chest) she held out the other. “You really should loosen up, you know. Pretty sure the dragon man wouldn’t mind you showing a bit of skin once and awhile.” Samahlnan teased just to make sure she wasn’t focusing on the knife drawing across her wrist. 

Blood flowed down into the bowl. It mingled with the old stains, dipped into the tiny carved runes. Sulahn’mi’s face paled, but her eyes were hard. 

“No one will come in,” She stated calmly. 

“You know someone is going to try, Sula,” Sama moved to Arvaan who already bared his wrist. She ignored the old scars that dragged vertically down his veins. Cvenna would only say grief causes us to do terrible things and she had only barely saved his life, whenever she had been asked about them. Arvaan never said anything about them, but sometimes would trace them absently. 

“Well, they can try. It just means more blood for the spell,” Sulahn’mi shrugged. Samahlnan chuckled. Sulahn’mi would hardly hurt a fly. Yet, threaten her friends and you’d wind up on the business end of her sword. 

More blood trickled into the bowl. “Be sure to make it a steady flow at least; there needs to be life in it for this to work.” She smiled at the two as they moved to stand on either side of the door. 

Nehnlin was next. He lounged against a wall in his dragonscale armor. He was eyeing the humans, animal/hunter instincts making his green eyes bright with challenge. His bow rested against his hip like a promise. 

“You’re up,” Sama called as she stepped up the few steps to the rogue. His eyes turned to her, Sylaise vallaslin a stark contrast against his skin. He grinned, pulling the scars around his mouth up. 

Without a word, he unbuckled his bracer and pushed the leather underneath up. “Try to be gentle, eh? I bruise like a fucking peach.” Sama rolled her eyes as she sliced his wrist. Blood rose in the bowl. “Hey, don’t overdo it, okay? I’d hate to have to find another _seth’lin_.” 

“Careful, N’lin, someone might misunderstand and think you care about me.” 

The rogue laughed, “I don’t have to like someone for them to be a part of my Clan,” He punched her gently in the shoulder. “Besides, apparently _seth’lins_ are hard to find around here. _Shemlen_ seem to burn them at the stake.” 

She frowned at the comment. “Thanks for that lovely image.” 

“Anytime.” 

Samahlnan worked in a circle, counterclockwise, collecting blood in her little bowl, burning away the blood on the blade with each slice. Save a few words, no one really spoke as she worked. 

She stopped in front of An’nas and Tahon. “Lotus said he’ll need you to help Nenara stitch…if you want to help.” She told An’nas. “But I don’t recommend being a ‘letter if you plan to heal.” Even for a Lavellan, the power needed for the ritual might be too much strain on the body if it were also trying to use magic. 

An’nas bit his lip. He understood the healer was trying to show he did have confidence in his apprentice. But it was a double edged sword. On the one hand, he would actively help his father, and save Nenara the magic. 

On the other, his blood was quite powerful. It would help the spell link better with Banal’s blood, not only because of their shared blood but because An’nas’s magic was so similar. Or something. He didn’t really understand the concept of blood magic; Vhena did. ‘The principles are similar to necromancy,’ she said. He shuddered just thinking about raising the dead; threw up a little in his mouth too. 

“But doesn’t my blood make the spell stronger?” He asked absently. 

Sama smiled sweetly, “It would help a great deal, yes. It would make it easier to connect to your father’s, but I am confident I could do without, lovey.” She cut open Tahon’s wrist as she spoke. He caught Solas’s disapproving frown from the corner of his eyes. But hey, the man taught him that family was important. So he could only blame himself. “And Nenara says stitching won’t drain her, so not to worry about her either.” 

An’nas thought for a moment longer. He tugged open the laces of his bracer and pushed up his sleeve. “With so few ‘letters, I think we need every advantage we can get.” He held out his wrist. A tiny slit was all that marred his skin. Samahlnan cut just below it. She smiled as the two settled down together in the shade. 

“I promise not to pull too much.” She waved as she walked away. Those were the last. Now came the difficult part. With so little blood (barely enough to fill one tenth of the bowl), she’d have to use more of hers as she wasn’t about to use an overabundance of the others’. So, she might very well kill herself as the High Priestess before her had done. Fate was a bitch, she grumbled in her head. 

“Hold a moment,” came from behind her, interrupting her thoughts. She froze at the Ferelden accent. She turned her head slightly only to find the Warden Commander and her husband standing in the middle of the courtyard. They had crossed the invisible line the shemlens had created. Zevran was watching his wife with a mix of caution and worry. Lyllie, however, held her head high. 

“Yes, Commander?” Samahlnan said in her usual purr. She eyed the hand the Warden kept on the hilt of her blade, Vigilance. The other Elvhen all shifted, as though ready to strike. But the Warden’s jaw was set hard and she kept a steady gaze. 

Without a word, she unbuckled her bracer and let it fall to the ground. She held out her wrist, marred with thick scars. The scars made from blood magic. Zevran’s eyes looked a touch saddened by the sight, but he masked it quickly. 

“I don’t know if my blood will be much help with the Taint and all, but hey Wardens using blood magic got us into this shithole, maybe a Warden using blood magic can get us out.” Lyllie nodded. Samahlnan watched the two carefully. Everyone did. The Wardens’ eyes went huge. 

“Are you sure?” The blood mage asked as she walked towards them. “There is no way for me to stop once I begin.” 

“Using blood magic to win wars is not a new concept for me.” Tabris was calm. Just as calm as she had been when she convinced Alistair to sleep with Morrigan. She had no time for ethics and morals then. Sure in the beginning, she had tried to cling to the ways her father taught her. But being raped on her wedding day and then murdering an entire castle had just tipped her over into the abyss. When opponents don’t play fair, why should she? What good was honor if it meant she got her ass handed to her? 

Samahlnan’s eyes flickered over to the former Crow. He wasn’t as calm, but he had agreed to stand by her. He had seen several blood magic rituals, of course. The Crows weren’t that picky when it came to their mages, so long as they were discreet. And they didn’t attract demons of course. But he never actually participated in one. 

The blood mage gently grabbed the elf commander’s wrist to bring it closer. “The Taint shouldn’t interfere; it might actually help,” She drew a line of blood. “You just need to keep the wound open while I begin,” She moved to Zevran and did the same. “You’ll feel a burning itch around it when I start pulling from you. It might hurt, but you cannot panic and try to stop the bleeding.” She looked them both in the eye. 

“Commander you can’t—“ Someone started behind Tabris. 

“How is this ritual any worse than the Joining?” She asked, voice brittle, “Wardens do what they must to win even if it means death.” She turned to the other Wardens that had followed her. “I don’t know about you all, but I think that mad elf is the only chance we got to kill Corypheus, and if the Taint in my blood can help, I’ll plunge the sword through my heart if that’s what it takes to beat that son of bitch. He made a fool out of us, an enemy. 

“If ya’ll want to whimper and lick your wounds a darkspawn fuck gave you, fine. Go ahead. But if you want to rip that bastard a new one…” She paused and looked around. Some of them were backing away from the heat in her eyes, others were hardening. 

“We are Grey Wardens; it’s our job to protect the world from the darkspawn, gathering allies where we can. And I’d rather have the Inquisitor an ally than an enemy.” Some Wardens stepped forward, hearts hardening. “This is war. And what do Wardens strive for in war?” Her voice sounded over the fortress walls, a commander, an arlessa, an elder. 

“Victory!” was the echoing answer. 

“And in peace?” 

“Vigilance!” 

“In death?” Sama hid her smile quite well as the smaller elven woman’s voice carried over the stones. Her warriors’ echoing cries nearly as deafening as a dragon’s roar as they slowly resolved themselves. 

“Sacrifice!” 

Lyllie turned back to Samahlnan with a prideful smile on her face. She learned a thing or two in her time. “You’ll have the Wardens,” was all she said. Sama bowed in thanks before beginning to go around to the humans, explaining what to expect. 

She relaxed as she cut the last wrist. This was more than enough to safely share the cost. And the Taint would be an added power source. 

She might just survive this. 

***** 

The air was tense as they all waited for some sign that it had begun; if there was to be a sign anyway. The sun climbed up to its zenith, the temperature climbing with it. The Elvhen, having been used to the desert, had taken the precaution of erecting a few tent-like structures for everyone to stand under. Ice wards hummed over the fabrics, bringing some level of comfort to the otherwise unbearable heat. 

The Wardens had to keep fiddling with their cuts to keep the blood open. The Elvhen merely told their bodies not to heal. The mortals couldn’t understand how that was possible, nor did they really want to try. Lotus had once said Elvhen could heal from fatal wounds given enough time asleep and enough aid. But didn’t that then mean that an elf who wanted to die would just will themselves to death? 

It was weird and no one wanted to deal with weird right now. Much of the Inquisition and its Circle had vacated the area. Hawke took Fenris back down to the medical field, just in case the magic hurt his markings and brought up unpleasant memories. Banal was going to be pissy enough for the Inquisition, no need to add another elf. 

Varric stayed with the Seeker; mostly to try to avoid bloodshed and only slightly from curiosity. He had seen his fair share of blood magic at Kirkwall and he still didn’t like this whole idea, but he had also seen how different their immortal friends were. Maybe that weirdness extended to their blood magic? 

Plus he wouldn’t be able to properly lie about this later if he didn’t witness it. The last thing anyone needed to know was Banal was brought back to life with blood magic. That would open up so many cans of shit; the world would be a sewer. He just had to wait for it to begin. 

Which surprisingly was soon. One moment the air was just filled with tension and heat. The next the tension became charged and the heat seemed to evaporate. A strange fog appeared from underneath the door to Smiley. 

It climbed up the wood and swirled around. Strange red symbols pulsed within the mist as they settled into what was obviously a ritual circle. It pulsed once, sending a visible shockwave out. Varric had to cover his eyes against the sand and rocks it kicked into his face. 

When he lowered his arm, he got the sight of a lifetime. Red magic misted around the blood-letters’ cuts. From the Wardens’, it looked more black than red as it danced into the air where a stream of it floated above the courtyard. It flowed down into the circle on the door, and assumedly to Samahlnan. 

Then a black, a true black with many colors dancing inside it, joined the magic stream. Varric followed it to none other than An’nas. The bard’s face was tense, hands gripping tightly to his pants. Obviously blood magic hurt for him. 

Or rather it was pulling at the dark blood he had inside him and he struggled to keep it in check. No need to freak out and turn demon on the nice shemlen. No matter how much they really deserved it. Couldn’t they just calm down? The air was rank with fear and anger. It was almost deafening 

It also made it that much harder for An’nas to retain control. 

So he sat, shaking and gritting his teeth against himself, praying to anything out there that this worked. He felt the exact moment when Sama grabbed a hold of his power. It was like someone reached inside and attached a string, pulling and tugging him this way and that. 

Samahlnan struggled to keep a hold of the magic. Void magic, it would seem, was highly chaotic and didn’t like to be confined. It battered against hers and Lotus’s spells like a wild animal as they tried to stop it from healing. Vhena was like that too when they tried to heal her. 

Then she felt an electric bolt course through her. An equally chaotic force surged through the circle. Like a floodgate being opened, the magic in her body increased tenfold. The lesser magics of the Wardens’ blood helped her contain the flood. 

She looked up at Lotus and Nenara, the world bloody around the edges, pulsating with a few dozen heartbeats. She nodded to show she was ready to begin. Nenara focused her magic into a thin needle, sea green thread trailing off the end. Lotus’s hands began glowing blue as he readied to begin healing. 

She looked down at Banal. His chest still quivered with each breath, blood trickling out to join the bloodstains already there. It was eerily similar to how Vhena was. Sama took a deep breath to center herself away from such thoughts. Now she needed to focus. 

Her hands gently cupped the Inquisitor’s head as she began to whisper her spell, the magic around her swirled before flying into his body. Behind her closed eyelids, she could see the dark magic flowing through his veins. Wisps of blue blocked its path even as the black clawed at them. 

She pushed her magic, a deep and dark red, to those wisps of blue. She coaxed it into a shield that the black battered against. She felt it push against her, the body knowing it was hurt, but it was touching something. Cells stopped dividing when they touched other cells, that was how Lotus explained it. When the body was injured, the magic inside its blood became divided as well. So the magic would force the cells into dividing until it reconnected with itself. 

But as she pulled from An’nas’s blood, his magic tricked Banal’s into thinking it reconnected with itself. She smirked triumphantly as the dark magic settled. Her blue eyes flickered up in time to see Lotus’s aura absorb into Banal’s body. Nenara’s hand was nearly invisible with the speed at which she stitched the surface gashes together. Magic thread would dissolve once the wound was healed, and wouldn’t tear open. 

For what seemed like an age, the two healers worked weaves and spells and wards over the Inquisitor’s body. But finally, they stepped back. Their faces were drained of color, sweat glistening on both their faces, but they nodded with small smiles. 

Samahlnan gently tugged her magic away, letting the dark flow back through his veins from where she dammed it. She dissolved the circle and felt all the blood rush out of her. The world spun on its head for a moment. Nenara wrapped her bleeding wrists tightly, guiding her to another chair. 

“I’ll go see to our volunteers,” Lotus rubbed the back of his neck. He was about ready to pass out himself. 

“An’nas is probably one step ahead of you,” Sama smirked. As she released him, she felt that strange geas come to the surface of his mind. He was probably already going around healing with no mind to the outside world. 

***** 

“Hey, Speckles,” Varric started as he, Dorian, Hawke, and Lyllie approached the young bard. An’nas stopped his sorting of bandages. He turned his head to them; his guests all had worry and fear in their hearts. It blared in his magic enough to make his skin itch. “Can we ask you something?” 

‘If this is something else about the ritual…’ An’nas growled. His father had been stable for several hours now. He even got to see him when he helped Lotus cover the stitches with bandages and whatnot, after An’nas had come out of his geas anyway. He couldn’t recall much while he was under, just that he needed to heal the pain. 

His stomach still gave a tiny lurch at seeing his father black and blue. “Of course,” he responded evenly. He turned fully to them. In this place, there was so much pain; it helped to focus on small ones, to avoid going under again for he probably wouldn’t heal anyone this time. 

Otherwise An’nas might start climbing the walls. The small town he and Tahon had stayed at for a time was like that. It was a border town, caught between two Houses trying to control it. Staying there…his head almost always hurt by the end of the day and the whining…noise behind his ears would nearly make him insane. 

The group shifted, snapping his attention back to them. The words they wanted to speak choked them. How do you just ask if someone’s father was an abomination? An’nas’s eyes flickered between them. His magic coaxed its way inside. It wasn’t as strong a force without Vhena there, but he managed to get through Varric and Lyllie. The Fade was the only strong sense he could discern. 

“I take it…something happened in the Fade, with Father.” He stated matter-of-factly. The group nodded. And then they told him everything. Never once did his face change. It stayed the same stoic mask as he listened carefully to what they said. 

When they finished, he nodded once in thought. “And you think I might know more about it?” He snorted. 

“Well you are his son…” Hawke shrugged. He didn’t mention the fact that apparently the elf’s whites had turned black as he healed the damage the blood ritual had caused. 

An’nas rolled his eyes, but sighed a moment later. He held his left palm out again, showing that black mark on his palm. “I know some things about it, but not a lot. I think Father is the only one that knows the whole story, even if he doesn’t remember that he does.” Lotus had said that there were traces of magic in Banal’s mind when he healed him, like fragments of a door that got blown open. He thought it might be the cause of the Inquisitor’s amnesia. 

But with the door now gone, he might start remembering odd things. An’nas hoped so. He really wanted the whole story about the mark on his hand. 

“So what…is it exactly?” Lyllie asked tactfully. 

“What the mark or the weird growing horns and a tail?” 

“And wings,” Dorian added. You couldn’t forget those wings. 

“Father has wings?” An’nas tilted his head. He didn’t have wings. Why didn’t he get to have wings? It was strange that he felt a little jealous of his father’s demon form. He shook his head. Now was not the time for such drivel. “Truth is, I don’t know what they are exactly. Something to do with our blood, I think.” He scratched thoughtfully at the mark. 

“So what do you know, Speckles?” Varric probed. They really needed answers before they wrote their reports. Was Smiley dangerous? Or just special? 

An’nas thought for a moment on how best to explain it. It was like trying to explain why the sky was blue, or Sula trying to explain why she chirped. It just was. He couldn’t remember never being this way, hearing every emotion in the air, having that urge to soothe the bad and coax the good. Around Vhena, it was quieter, less overwhelming as he shared the feeling. But it never went away. 

“Can I tell you a story, Varric?” He asked, looking up from his hand, “It won’t be as riveting as yours, but perhaps it will help.” He motioned for them to sit down with him. “Nolahra, you never met her, but she was like our grandmother. She would always tell us stories. Looking back, I realize she always told stories that pertained to my father; most likely she knew the whole story, but didn’t wish to tell it. 

“But I can recall one story she told us many times. Those spirits you met, Corruption, it was about them and how the world was created. It is an old tale, one that had been lost to time even when Arlathan was at its height. I can tell it as best as I am able.” He paused to give them a chance to leave. 

“Go on, Speckles, show us what you got,” Varric smirked. 

An’nas nodded, “It begins as most children stories do: once in a time long since passed, the world was without form. All was just Void. Inside this Void warred two entities: Nothing and Everything. Neither could exist without the other, but neither could one exist with the other. 

“They needed to be separated, this the Void knew. So an order was struck: Nothing would become the Void while Everything would exist on a separate plane, becoming the World, to protect that which gave it power and form. Thus both the physical and Fade were created. 

“Skip some rather boring parts and some spirits willed themselves into physical form. Several lifespans later and we get the first Elvhen. Physical forms offered more temptations than spirit and soon the Elvhen ravaged the World with war, pestilence and chaos. All this the Void saw. The plane that separated them also prevented them from balancing the other. 

“So, the Void created its own beings, Corruption Spirits, to bring the World back into balance without sacrificing its own balance. Nolahra often compared them to gardeners, weeding out the dying and strangling plants so the beautiful flowers may grow and flourish...” An’nas took a deep breath at the end of the story. 

“I imagine we are similar to those spirits, able to hear the wrongness, the anger, hate and fear. It gets so overwhelming at times that you just want it to go away, to stop. You need it to stop.” His teeth gritted together for a moment, “And sometimes that need becomes so strong, you forget yourself and the darkness comes out. It sees the world as nothing but weeds in need of eradication.” 

Varric swallowed. He remembered Smiley in the beginning, how he was immune to cries of help and devoid of compassion. Like he didn’t understand why he should help anyone. Like everyone was nothing more than an insect or a weed. 

An’nas’s ears quivered as they felt fear and despair well up inside the dwarf. But he waited for the mortals to sort through their thoughts. 

“So…Banal sees us as nothing more than weeds?” Hawke asked. Well that’s comforting. The man with an army to topple nations having no moral compass? Yeah that’s a disaster waiting to happen. 

“Perhaps he did at first.” An’nas shrugged. “At first he was probably more interested in manipulating you all into destroying yourselves as Corruption Spirits are wont to do. And Corypheus just gave him a way to do so.” 

“So should we even trust him? Herald or no, if the man is a demon, he needs to be dealt with.” Lyllie crossed her arms with a frown. An’nas shook his head sadly. 

“Even with the darkness in control, Father can still be kind. When Vhena and I were small, his hair was a beautiful black, blacker than the shadows of a moonless night. But his heart was black too.” An’nas shifted slightly, unsure of how to explain the weird feeling he had always gotten around his father. “It was a scar he made to hide a wound. Or perhaps someone had taught him or forced him, I don’t know. But he was still there, in his own weird way.” He looked towards the door to his father’s room. 

Varric and Dorian both saw the strange kind of love the bard had for his father. “But can we trust him?” Hawke prodded again, “You just said he probably sees us as nothing more than weeds.” 

An’nas didn’t turn to look at him. “Did you know that in my people’s time, the plant you call elfroot was considered a weed?” He spoke softly. 

“What?” 

“Oh yes, it was a nuisance plant. It was ugly and sprouted up everywhere. And you could never get rid of it entirely. Even in the winter, it would spring up. Yet one day, a doctor, at a loss on what to do to heal an infection, accidentally grabbed a leaf from an elfroot plant rather than another herb. Lo and behold, the patient healed. So what was once a weed became an herb,” He finally turned and smiled at them. “Ideas change just as much as the people who come up with them.” 

*****

For a moment, all Banal knew was pain. Was he bathing in fire? Or perhaps ice? Hot and cold warred inside his body. Breathing took a great deal of effort, each breath shaking and catching. 

Then sharp stinging pain came. Tiny needles pricked every nerve ending he had as he dragged his consciousness back from the depths. His head began to swim. Something was wrong. Just he couldn’t remember what, or how any of this happened. Why did he hurt so bad? 

His head felt like a river after heavy rain and a landslide. Thoughts and memories swirled around his skull like debris from a bursting dam. They all floated together, muddying his mind. He felt like he had a fever dream of walking in the Fade. Yet it also felt so real. But it couldn’t be, right? After all, he never knew his father and had certainly never met that strange glowing spirit. It all had to be a dream. 

A sick, messed up fever dream. 

Banal slowly roused himself. His eyelids flickered open for a mere second before their heaviness drew them closed. His body just wanted to sleep. His magic held firmly to the Fade, threatening to pull him under again. 

But if he went under again, he’d have another weird fever dream. And that last one hurt like hell. So he summoned all his will and opened his eyes. 

He was in an unfamiliar room. Old stones were weary from sand blasting against them. A single lantern upon a wooden desk cast a dull glow over everything. It threw long shadows. His eyes played tricks, turning half-veiled objects into monsters. He blinked a few times, squinting as his eyes burned from the dry air. 

Many bunks lined the walls, all empty. It seemed he was the only one there. It was a fairly large room, tall ceiling, much like a fortress. So he was probably still at Adamant. Had he knocked his head? Or did he just pass out from his fever? He at least hoped he managed to close the Rift before he did so; that would’ve been embarrassing otherwise. 

His limbs moved like they were fifty pound weights. He slowly pushed himself up, letting the blanket pool around his hips. His right shoulder screamed with enough pain to nearly make him vomit. A hiss escaped his lips, hand flying to hold the protesting limb. 

Then his abdomen started to burn and cry. He winced, squeezing his eyes shut as every part of him awakened. Even his face shot pain through him. He almost wished he had let the Fade pull him back. But curiosity’s pull was stronger. He wanted to know what happened, and where that stupid little Tevinter prick was so he could beat him upside the head. 

Despite pain making him dizzy, Banal got to his feet. He leaned heavily against the bedside table as the world spun. All the blood rushed from his head, black taking over his vision. He blinked rapidly, waiting for it to dissipate before he moved towards the vague outline of the door. 

Each step wobbled like his limbs weren’t connected. What should have been maybe twenty steps straight ahead, turned out to be a drunken zigzag of forty. His eyes played tricks on him, turning the distances between him and the furniture greater or lesser for their own amusement. 

He cursed quietly each time something knocked against him. The stupid pieces of wood were doing this on purpose. Still he managed to reach the door. He put both hands out as he nearly faceplanted into it. The shock felt like it shattered his right shoulder blade. 

His jaw clamped down on the yelp he nearly made. Dizziness and nausea swirled around him as something used his shoulder for a drum. He waited for it to pass before taking a crack at opening the door. Which only hurt his shoulder more. 

Banal staggered out of the room. It was thankfully dark out. He would have thrown up if light had stabbed his eyes. All around him was a war camp, smelling like fire, blood, and a whole lot of people in one place. And desert. It smelt like desert too. 

He looked around him, noting they were in some part of Adamant still. The stones beneath his bare feet still radiated heat from the day, staving off the descending chill that settled around his bare shoulders. He turned his head towards a fire closest to his room. People were gathered around it, sharing stories. 

Banal gritted his teeth as he took one step forward. His entire body pulsed with pain, as if reminding him of the dream. His body temperature continued to rise. But he blinked away the dizziness and took shaking steps towards the group. He was halfway there when someone finally noticed him. 

They stood, disbelief on their faces as they all turned towards him. He stopped, legs quivering. He had begun to shiver against the fever. All was quiet. Then one of the soldiers called out. “Hey look who’s back from the dead!” Someone else shouted, followed by other shouts. 

Suddenly it was a celebration, soldiers hooraying and whooping. Banal’s head spun, unsure of what the hell was happening. His ears twitched every way they could, listening to all the noise echoing around. He was pretty sure he looked like a surprised halla. 

Soon, familiar faces pushed their way through the crowd. Varric and Cassandra were the first among them. Cassandra released a breath and whispered a light, “thank the Maker” while Varric grinned. 

“Told you it would take more than that to kill him, Seeker,” The dwarf said merrily, a light in his eyes as his body relaxed. Smiley was alive, a little worse for wear, but he was standing. And looking really confused. 

Banal looked around, eyes adjusting quickly to the low light. They were in the area where the Rift was…which was absent. So apparently he had closed before he…passed out? Though his body felt like it had been chewed up by a dragon and then spat out. 

“What…happened?” He asked quietly as the other members of the Circle and some of his Elvhen appeared. He looked around, trying to find someone who would answer him. 

“You…don’t remember?” Solas spoke up from the back. He watched the Forgotten One carefully. The strange markings he had in the Fade still shimmered across his skin, though significantly duller, Falon’Din’s vallaslin overtop them. Greens and purples flashed as the fires’ glows bathed everyone. Suddenly, Solas realized why he hadn’t recognized Banal, why none of them recognized Banal. The white streak might have been a factor, but it was hardly noticeable honestly. 

He had lost those markings. That was what always struck people when they first met him, the delicate filigree that decorated his face and body. It captivated them, watching the colors shift and twinkle in an unending dance. Granted they weren’t defined by dark outlines, but still you could see, sense they were there. 

Without them, Mahviiral wasn’t himself. Solas’s eyes widened. Mahviiral was Banal without them. He was nothing. 

Banal stared oddly at the Dread Wolf who seemed quite surprised by whatever went on in his head. “No, everything’s a bit fuzzy…” He admitted, looking to the others. They shifted uncomfortably. Cassandra glared murder at Samahlnan and Lotus who both returned the glare tenfold. “What’s going on? What did I miss?” 

An unspoken tension had brewed between the blood mage and the Seeker. Well another tension anyway. His eyes darted back and forth. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. A pressure built in his chest. He could sense anger…Cassandra was blaming something on Samahlnan…Banal grabbed the dark tendril leaking off the Seeker’s heart and tried to follow it. 

But suddenly two hands grabbed his face in a gently forceful pull. Then lips pressed against his. Their teeth clicked from the force. And all Banal could do was jump and stare wide eyed at Dorian as he savagely kissed him. Tahon and Bull let out several wolf whistles. Which Dorian returned with his middle finger, not breaking the kiss until Banal relaxed. 

When the human pulled away, he was glaring at the elf. “Don’t ever do that again.” He hissed. Banal blinked stupidly, face still cradled. 

“Uh…do what…exactly?” His eyes darted around, trying to find someone to answer him. 

Lotus stepped forward. “Alright, so now that the Tevinter has marked his territory, you,” He pointed a pale finger at Banal, “shouldn’t be up and walking right now. Back to bed, so I can have a look at you now that you’re conscious.” Lotus gently turned him back towards the door and pushed him forward. “Dorian you can come too, since I know you’re going to be following any way.” 

The human didn’t even make an undignified noise at the jab. 

***** 

“Ow!” Banal growled. “Would you quit prodding me?! It fucking hurts everywhere!” He snapped the words, looking about ready to bite the healer’s fingers off. Dorian hid his chuckle at the Inquisitor glaring/pouting at his physician. 

He was supposed to be mad at him. Furious. How dare he let Dorian think for even a moment that everything was just gone, ended? How dare he be stupid and avoid him for several weeks? 

But in truth, Dorian was…content to see the elf still be the same grouch he always was. A smile kept trying to break from its prison at just seeing him breathing. And the fact that he didn’t have horns or a tail was an added bonus. 

“Would you quit being a child and let me look at you?!” Lotus yelled back. He honestly preferred Banal unconscious as a patient. Less whiney. 

Suddenly those almost-not-there markings flared a sort of molten red color. The edges darkened like cooling lava. Lotus took a step back as did Dorian. They stared in disbelief as the tattoos flickered and danced like flames inside their designs. 

Then Banal seemed to notice their reactions. He blinked and the colors died away. For several heartbeats, no one spoke. Dorian was trying to calm his heart. The Fade was still too fresh an ordeal for him to forget the panic at seeing the Inquisitor…well, that was enough of that thought. 

He focused back on the elf. He was cocking his head to the side, in confusion. Dorian imagined that whatever confusion and fear the Fade had left him with, the elf had it multiplied a thousand. 

Banal flexed his jaw. Fear had spiked around him, a faint whine in the back of his ears. Then it was gone. “Why…does everything hurt?” He asked slowly. 

The Lotusmaker rubbed the back of his neck. “You really don’t remember going into the Fade?” He asked. Banal’s head took a moment to register that. Then his eyes widened, dilating to almost the size of an owl’s pupils. His entire body quivered as color left his face. 

It had been real? It wasn’t a fever dream? 

He swallowed bile. That meant…his mind flashed images of Sulendys’s fanged smirk. That strange trio of Corruption Spirits. That weird warrior spirit…who Banal swore he had seen its earring before…That memory he had just before it all went black… 

Black…his heart stopped. He nearly threw up. If it was all real then… 

His eyes snapped to Lotus, “Mirror,” He bit out the word like a command. The healer blinked but complied. His hands gently glowed as they spun the spell. A soft blue aura radiated between them, slowly growing until Lotus stopped. A light flashed once as the orb held between his hands solidified. It reflected the world back like a calm pool of water. 

Banal stared at someone he knew…but didn’t. A line of stitches stretched from his left cheek and across his nose. Claw marks gouged one side of his jaw and part of his neck. Bruises bloomed around them. 

But that wasn’t what he was staring at. It was the shifting not-tattoos. His vallaslin seemed to cover them up, or dull them further, but you could still see the strange design that wasn’t Elven nor Human nor Dwarven nor Qunari. He was pretty sure if he looked down, he’d see more of them all over his body. 

He clenched his jaw shut and turned his head away. He glared at the stone wall near the head of his borrowed bed. Memories slowly sifted to the bottom, letting the waters in his head clear some. He remembered hating those markings, hating himself for what lingered in his blood. He remembered the form he could take and just wishing it away. But his wishes never came true, just as blood kept pumping through his veins. 

Lotus turned to Dorian, both noting the drastic change in the Inquisitor. The air suddenly felt heavier, denser like a fog had rolled in. “How about you two have a chat, aye?” The healer suggested. He put his roll of bandages in the human’s hands. “At least make yourself useful and change his bandages while you’re at it.” 

Dorian didn’t even have time to protest being thrown together before the elf disappeared. He cursed silently. He supposed, they’d have to talk eventually and Maker knows the Inquisitor wasn’t going to be the one who started the conversation. 

He turned back to the elf who had covered himself with a blanket, still glowering at the wall. “Are you cold?” He asked, taking a step forward. His hand hesitated reaching for the elf. ‘Oh get a grip, Dorian,’ he chastised himself, ‘Banal is obviously his usual morose self once more.’ Totally not a demon hell bent on freezing his ass alive. 

His fingertips barely brushed a few strands of hair away from the elf’s face before Banal jerked himself away. Dorian retracted his hand like he was burnt. It stung a bit. But he tried to think logically. Perhaps the tattoos hurt? Or maybe he was just overly sensitive to touch right now. Or that area just hurt. There were an infinite number of things that could have caused that reaction that didn’t deal with Banal hating him. 

Banal clenched his jaw, fear and despair twinkling in the air like stars. He squeezed his eyes shut. The noise hurt to hear. Not just in his ears, but in his chest. A strange pulling sensation tried to draw him to the human’s heart, to fix it. But how could he? He was more demon than spirit. At this point Banal could barely tell if he had ever had spirit blood. 

So he sat still, body taut and ridged despite the agony that zipped around his body. “Did I hurt you?” Dorian asked quietly. He waited a few moments for the Inquisitor to reply, but Banal held his tongue in check. No, he wanted to say, but his mouth wouldn’t obey him. The Altus sighed, “You know, Banal, we might not be in this situation if you had talked with us.” Anger made the words sharper than he had intended. 

But damn it, it was true. If the man had let someone, anyone in, let them know just how bad he was, or what he was struggling with in his head, they might not have needed a damn blood ritual to keep him alive. Dorian’s eyes narrowed at the elf; Banal’s eyes fell to the floor. But still he did not speak. 

The human took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. It might have been the elf’s personality or it might just be because he truly believed they were over and Dorian was making things awkward. Who knew? Banal didn’t seem to want to talk. 

Dorian sighed, anger deflating as those thoughts skittered across his mind. “Do you want me to go get someone else?” 

Banal finally looked up at that. He blinked. Anger burnt itself away, leaving naught but despair behind in the human. A loud buzz behind his ears that hit many cords inside of him. When Banal could only stare, the Altus sighed again and turned. 

His heart stuttered. In all reality, he should let him walk out. Maybe Bull could get him to lightening up a bit. The Void only knew that Banal wouldn’t be much of the lover Dorian seemed to want. 

But instead he found himself whispering, “Don’t go,” almost as a dying wish. Dorian paused and looked back at him. 

“Beg pardon?” 

The elf set his jaw, chest hurting from how hard his heart had to pump. By the Void, why did this stupid thing of talking have to be so difficult for him? Words seemed to get stuck in his head, and lies came out in their stead. He could face down demons, taunt them with no problem, yet he got tongue tied when asked how he was. It made no sense. 

Banal stifled a frustrated growl, squaring his shoulders like he was facing down an enemy. Using only his left arm, he pushed off the blanket, exposing his bandaged ribs. He met Dorian’s eyes with some effort. “Stay,” his voice was demanding, frustration giving it a bite. 

The Altus blinked. The elf glanced down at his torso, hand hesitating as he tried to find where the bandages began. His skin was all cloth it seemed. Some areas were dyed red from blood while others were a pristine white. He was almost frightened to know what was underneath. 

Frightened and curious. He plucked at the wraps. He tried to move his right arm, but a sharp pain shot through it at the smallest movements. So he wouldn’t be using that arm for a while. 

A dark skinned hand, fingers adorned with rings, seized his hand. “You’re going to tear the stitches out at this rate,” Dorian mumbled. Banal looked up, finding the human very close. Dorian kissed one of his knuckles before letting go of his hand. “And you didn’t answer any of my questions.” 

“Yes I did,” Banal snorted. The man began to undo the tight bandages, winding them around, careful of the red areas. 

“You told me stay. That doesn’t answer my question,” Dorian pointed out. It was hard to unwrap when Banal’s right arm didn’t move an inch. He didn’t want to try to move it for the elf in case it caused him pain, but having to maneuver around it was a pain. 

The elf huffed loudly. He thought it answered everything. Banal sighed loudly. “Why do you have to want to talk?” He grumbled. Dorian narrowed his eyes again. 

“Because otherwise nothing gets solved.” 

Another sigh escaped Banal’s lips, “Fine. What were your questions again?” When Dorian paused to cock an eyebrow, the elf rolled his eyes. “I was busy with my own inner monologue, sorry.” 

‘Well, at least he is still being sassy,’ Dorian thought. Banal gritted his teeth as he used his working arm to lift the broken one onto Dorian’s shoulder. His eyes screwed shut as a barely audible whine escaped him. “Hey, now, no need to…” Dorian’s voice trailed off as fingers brushed against his neck. So he could move the arm, it just hurt like hell. 

Dorian moved the bloody bandages away. The elf’s torso was a menagerie of bruises and stitches. Black and blue dominated the pale flesh. Magic shimmered where it held the skin together. Dark red scabs marked their territory across his chest, areas brighter from where Banal had ripped them open. 

The Altus winced looking at the gruesome mosaic the demon had left behind. He brushed a kiss over the man’s forehead just out of instinct. 

“Questions,” Banal reminded. His voice was breathy, strained as he struggled to push the pain away. Glass seemed to be embedded under his skin, in his bones with tiny fragments rubbing together with a slight movement. 

“I asked if you were cold,” Dorian mumbled against the elf’s feverish skin, “But it feels as though you have a fever.” He pulled back to study Banal who was looking contemplative himself. 

He was dying of heat it seemed. Which was odd. Heat should not bother a fire mage, just as cold did not bother ice mages. Yet he could feel his fever, how his body sweated. He had never felt a fever before. He had always felt cold when he was supposedly running a fever. 

Fingertips brushed over his cheeks, checking his temperature. He was half-tempted to lean into the touch, to take comfort in the gentle feeling. But his muscles all locked into place. 

“Your skin is rather clammy…” Dorian’s words trailed off as the markings flared at his touch. They danced with hues of pink and green around his fingertips, slowly fading as they spread farther away. He moved his fingers; the lights followed. His skin tingled as magic prickled against him. He wondered how that was possible. 

Then Banal pulled his face away again, jaw clenched. Dorian worried the marks caused him pain again. He retracted his hand, watching warily as the elf shifted uncomfortably. “Do they hurt?” He asked quietly. 

The Inquisitor’s eyes flickered down for a moment, “Not in the way you think.” 

“Then how?” 

Banal looked up at the wall, licking his lips as he thought for a moment. It was hard to explain something he didn’t even truly remember. All he had to go on were vague impressions, shadowy outlines of things. Some things were clear. He hated those marks, so much so he remembered trying to rip them off with his claws. 

“I just remember hating them, wanting them gone. They marked me as outcast, lesser than even a slave and I would not be defined by my blood,” he paused to look at the human. Old sadness hid behind his eyes, as deep as it was ancient. When the elf looked like that, Dorian found himself believing that he had lived for millennia. “Once I tried to claw them off. I remember being purged because of them. People threw rocks; they wanted me in a cage and collared.” Banal’s voice started to turn to a growl. 

Dorian’s fingers tilted the elf’s chin up, thumb brushing against his bottom lip in a quiet ‘stop’. The marks were beautiful, if only a little strange. How they shifted colors: astonishing and captivating. How they buzzed with magic: fascinating. But more than that, they seemed a part of the elf, just as the weird white streak that grew and shrank was. 

“While seeing you in a collar does have some appeal,” Dorian smirked as the elf cocked a suspicious eyebrow, “those people obviously had some disease of the brain.” 

“Oh?” Banal snorted. The human was quite terrible of cheering him up. But…he was trying, he supposed. 

“I can’t fathom why tattoos would elicit being thrown into a cage, let alone being spell purged. They are obviously magic, yes, but that hardly calls for purging.” He wondered why. Did Banal try to take them off by a dispel? Would that even work? While they were magic, they were also a part of his skin, like a tattoo. 

The elf shook his head, “Can’t really say. It’s all…so muddled…” His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to sift through all the chaos inside his head. It just made him dizzy. Dorian kissed his lips gently before dropping his hand. He began wrapping clean bandages around the elf’s torso. 

He was careful to keep it loose; the man did just have broken ribs a day ago. He asked a few questions when the elf winced before he finally got to gently lay the limp arm back down. Banal’s face had lost several shades of color during the process, his breathing erratic, almost choked even. 

Dorian sat down beside him, “Not too tight is it?” He fretted. He was far from a healer and knew absolutely nothing about bandaging wounds. 

Banal shook his head, as he struggled to keep his lungs in check. “They…must have healed…me very quickly…” He managed to gasp out as his throat tightened, as if it was trying to strangle him. Dorian frowned. 

“You kept…” His words failed him. He took a deep breath, “Your heart kept failing before Lotus could heal much damage. They had to go get Lady Samahlnan for a…ritual.” 

Banal blinked. Then he chuckled despite the burning ache it created in his chest, “Oh I bet that went over well.” He wondered how Varric was going to explain all this shit in his book. The Inquisitor, part demon, saved by blood magic. He could already hear the grabbing of pitchforks and smell the smoke of the torches. 

Dorian narrowed his eyes, “Your son basically became you, barking out orders and yelling at Cassandra.” 

“An’nas?” Banal’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. Sure he was more like Banal than Vhena, but…barking orders, facing down the Seeker? Surely that wasn’t the same _da’nas_? 

“Oh yes, he was quite furious and ordered Sama and Lotus to do the ritual. Speaking of the healer…” Dorian studied Banal for a moment, “Can he really kill someone with healing magic?” Banal blinked in surprise. “What?” 

“Nothing, just…I never thought he’d allow anyone to…” Banal shook his head, dispelling his thoughts. “Lotus…only Sama, An’nas, Vhena, and myself know his story. He wishes to forget it all. So I am…surprised that he would show strangers that part of him.” 

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows, “Meaning he’s killed people before?” 

Again the elf shook his head, “It is not my story to tell, Dorian.” Then he shrugged, “Plus I promised I wouldn’t speak of it so long as Lotus stayed away from alcohol and out of his drugs.” 

“The doctor and drug dealer had a drug addiction?” Dorian asked quite baffled by the irony of it. Banal solemnly nodded. 

“And he isn’t a very…happy drunk.” 

“Why do I have a feeling you are talking about me?” Lotus’s voice came from behind the door. A moment later, he pushed the door open, revealing himself and An’nas behind him. Banal sighed loudly. “Have a nice couple chat?” 

Banal glared, promising retribution for anything the healer said or did that he didn’t like. One could see how once upon a time, Banal was considered a dark god with that look. The Maker, when He was pissed, might have looked similar. 

“You deserve it though,” An’nas crossed his arms as he returned the glare. 

Before Banal could verbally retaliate, Lotus stepped in, “So you find anything out? What’s hurting? What’s not? Or is he still being difficult?” 

Dorian blinked, but nodded, “I don’t think he can move that arm.” He motioned with his head to the dead limb. “At least not without a great deal of pain.” 

Lotus frowned, moving around to his back. Banal stiffened instinctively. He hated people at his back; it was a perfect opportunity to stab him. Which he would deserve many times over, mind you. A hiss slipped through his teeth as magic touched his shoulder. It was cold, leaving pinpricks here and there. 

“ _Dahn’direlan_!” The healer growled, shoving the dark elf’s head forward. “You tore the muscle and fractured the bone again.” Probably when he fell against the door and then pushed it. Just how quickly had he been healed? 

Banal frowned, “In my defense, when I woke up I didn’t know what had happened or why everything was on fire. Had I, I probably wouldn’t’ve moved.” 

An’nas snorted, checking the stitches in his face, “You just, what? Thought all of Adamant was a dream?” 

“Not all, but the Fade part, yes.” His frown deepened. His head still felt funny like something had finally broke open and was draining, relieving pressure. But it was still muddled and different. And he wasn’t sure he liked it. 

Dorian’s voice broke him from his thoughts, “We all wish it was just a dream, amatus.” Banal glanced at the human. He suddenly wished he had not brought any companions with him. No one deserved that ordeal, save perhaps Banal. 

The feeling of guilt, though not new, was still foreign. A strange twisting of his guts that was far from comfortable wormed its way to the forefront of all the uncomfortable-ness he had. His markings had lightning going up and down them, biting sharply in places. 

“So do you,” Lotus cut in carefully, putting his arm through a sling, “think you can stand long enough to give an inspirational speech?” 

Banal blinked stupidly, “What? Cullen is incapable?” 

“Well, he’s just the Commander,” An’nas started, “It means more if the Inquisitor addresses them. Plus I think the man hates speeches.” He seemed the type to like barking orders rather than making winded speeches. 

“A man of few words, yes,” Dorian chuckled, “Tabris has kept the Wardens in line given her rank, but they all know their fate is in your glowing hand.” Dorian emphasized his words by bringing said hand to his lips and kissing it. The Inquisitor seemed perplexed by the motion, which was just amusing to everyone else. 

Banal sighed once the human lowered his hand. He supposed what was said was true. After the hell he went through because of their stupidity he’d be upset if he wasn’t able to give in kind. 

Practically, however, he could not find a good enough reason to banish or execute the lot. Wardens were few in number, but fierce warriors nonetheless. If a Blight occurred soon, driven by Corypheus’s actions, it’d be suicidal to banish the Wardens. 

Also, they now had reason to hate Corypheus, having suffered at his hands. This blunder left them eager to prove themselves, and if the Inquisitor was the one to provide the opportunity… 

“Very well,” Banal nodded once, coming to his decision. “I hope none of you have your hopes up that it will be spectacular.” 

“The fact that you are still breathing is spectacular,” Lotus snorted. He carefully mended the shoulder’s muscle and bone, “Just no using your arm for a while, aye?” Banal frowned. Not having an arm did not make him happy, nor would following order no matter how necessary. 

“How am I—“ 

“Nae,” Lotus interrupted, “I don’t want to hear it. If you had listened to me in the first place, we might not be here.” Banal and the healer glared at each other. People might have found it strange that Banal seemed to be far more…friendly or familiar with his supposed subordinates. He certainly offered the more leeway than he did with the rest of the Inquisition. Almost like they were equals. 

“Fine, I’ll behave. For the moment,” Banal growled, seeing no way to rebuke the healer’s comment. 

There was a possibility that if he had waited for his magic to recuperate, he might not have been so weak in the Fade. Thus he wouldn’t have gotten his ass kicked by Sulendys, nor turned demon. Possibly. 

At the same time, he knew his magic wouldn’t have recuperated. The barrier had begun to block him from the Fade or perhaps the Shadow manifesting had messed with something. Even now he could feel both the Fade and what was behind it, where he couldn’t before. But until he could figure everything out himself, he saw no reason to voice these troubling developments. 

Lotus snorted again, “I’ll take it.” He ran a hand through his curls to release some tension. “Sula and Vaan are making a hammock for you to ride in. I don’t want you making everything worse…again.” Banal rolled his eyes. “I’ve some sleeping potions for you when we start moving. We’ll stop at Griffon’s Keep for supplies.” 

“Good; glad to see you don’t fall apart without me,” Banal muttered. “Anything else unreasonable?” 

“You’re going to eat something,” An’nas stepped back from him to cross his arms. Banal narrowed his eyes. “Your stomach took a hit; Lotus managed to heal it before it tore all the way, but it’s still weak.” 

“And needs to be broke in, aye,” Lotus nodded. “I also want to get your lung stronger before we start going up into the mountains.” 

“And your arm, hip, and—“ 

“I get it!” Banal snapped, “A lot was broken and needs fixed.” He glared/pouted. He hated the idea of being coddled like this. He could heal himself just fine and still function. No need for all this…special treatment shit. 

“No magic,” An’nas glared, sensing his father’s thoughts. “You already depleted yourself trying to heal, so no more until we’re sure you’ll remain stable.” Banal huffed a cloud of mist out his nose like a bull. Or dragon. 

“I hate you.” 

“Love you too, Papae,” An’nas smirked evilly as his father rolled his eyes. “You know Vhen is pissed right?” 

Oh he could already imagine the lecture and dramatic speech she had lined up for him the moment he entered Tarasyl’an. Banal sighed again. “I can imagine.” He grabbed An’nas’s arm to help him stand. His son kept a strong grip on him as he shifted his weight off the bad hip. Fuck, he felt old. 

When he was sure he wasn’t going to fall over, he pushed away from An’nas and headed for the door, shoulders squared, head high. And they all knew better than to try and help him even when he had to pause at the door to catch his breath. His face grew pale, even though he showed no signs of pain. He pushed the door open and walked out, just as regal as a king. 

“He really doesn’t like being coddled, does he?” Dorian mumbled just as An’nas sighed, “Stubborn old man." 

***** 

It took little time at all for the Elvhen to construct a kind of hammock in a wagon, using blankets and nets. Lotus crafted many sleeping potions, one of which he used on Banal shortly after the hammock was finished. After all, the sooner they were out of the desert, the better. 

Every day, Lotus checked Banal, applying a weird smelling poultice to his chest and lips. He said it was to help sustain him. On the third day, Lotus held a vial under Banal’s nose, letting the fumes of the potion drift up to him. 

The Inquisitor, who was peacefully sleeping, his markings shimmering as he drifted along in the Fade, suddenly began to twitch like he was having a nightmare. He tossed his head to the side, trying to get away from the foul stench. He even snorted. 

It took a good two minutes for Banal to regain enough consciousness for him to growl. 

“Well, then wake up,” Lotus grumbled as Banal fought to go back asleep. Slowly, the dark elf cracked open an eye to glare. Lotus kept the vial under his nose to make sure he woke up. Banal coughed. 

“Would you get that shit away from me?” 

Lotus laughed, “You’re grouchy when you come out of _Uthenera_ , aren’t you?” Banal gave a half-hearted vulgar gesture towards the healer. “Come on, your shemlen are all waiting to see that I didn’t kill you.” 

Banal groaned, looking at the light. His head was still swimming in sleep. The Fade tugged relentlessly at his mind. “How long was I gone?” 

“Just three days. I told you I didn’t want you to sleep longer than that just in case the Veil fucked things up, aye?” Banal rubbed his eyes. “And I want you to eat.” 

“Of course you expect the impossible, why would I think anything less?” Banal growled as he let the healer help him to his feet without using his right arm. The moonlight cast shadows around the camp, fires breaking them apart. The air still held its heat, sand pulsing out the last dregs of the sun. Food cooking and conversation swirled all around. Lotus led the way to what seemed to be the Inner Circle’s fire. 

“So how you feeling, Smiley?” Varric asked as the groggy elf sat down with them. He accepted his bowl of tasteless broth with a displeased look. What he wouldn’t give to eat meat or hell, a salad would be a vast improvement over the elfroot and mystery meat juice. 

Banal sighed, “I’m starting to feel my age.” His voice was weary as all the Elvhen laughed. He couldn’t remember feeling this slow nor healing being this tiring. 

“And just what age is that?” The dwarf smirked. The Inquisitor glared, daring him to give a number. “Two thousand?” Well, at least it was lower, Banal supposed. Still he frowned with one side of his lips. “Okay two thousand and one hundred?” Still the elf’s face remained an unhappy glare. “Am I getting hot or cold, Smiley?” Varric laughed. 

“No.” Banal hissed. 

“That’s not an answer.” Sera giggled. 

“I got this.” Tahon interrupted. Banal’s gaze turned murderous at his son-in-law. The duelist loved to piss him off. It might as well have been his second specialization. “It’s easy to tell when you’re over. Watch.” He grinned, before pretending to think hard, “Fifteen thousand, four hundred, and twenty three.” 

Banal’s entire body tensed. Red and orange flickered through his markings as his glare intensified. An aura of anger spread from him. Everyone chuckled at the indignant look. 

“So it’s less than fifteen thousand, but more than a thousand.” Tahon shrugged. Banal’s frustration only built as a guessing game erupted between Tahon, Varric, and Sera. His eye even began to twitch. His grip on his spoon tightened as his annoyance started to hit its peak. 

After they got it narrowed down to nine thousand and under, Banal snapped, “For the love of the Void, six thousand, seven hundred and eighteen!” He snarled. 

Everyone grew silent and stared at the Inquisitor. Partly because…well that was old, ancient even for an Elvhen. And also because red and blue shimmered across his markings. Like separate lights seen underwater. Only where they touched did it turn purple. 

“That’s…” Banal’s glare made the words shrivel in Varric’s mouth. He hadn’t seen that glare in forever. An awkward silence grew as Banal grumbled to his broth, stabbing the spoon in the liquid. 

“Wait…” An’nas broke the silence. “How old were you when Vhena and I were born?” He looked generally confused. His father didn’t seem that old. And most Elvhen stopped having children after two thousand. 

Banal scrunched up his nose in thought. “Three thousand? Maybe late twenty nine hundreds?” Everyone blinked. 

“Let’s all take a moment to be thankful Banal can’t turn into a dragon,” Nehnlin joked to break the tension some. Everyone laughed. 

“Yeah if you thought your High Dragons were huge…Those are only a millennia or so old at most.” Arvaan chuckled. 

Banal, however, smirked evilly, “How do you know I can’t turn into a High Drake?” He asked quietly. All laughter stopped; everyone froze mid-bite. 

“Wait…can you?” An’nas choked. Somehow the idea was…frightening. 

“Did you know that the ancient elves used dragons or dragon shifters as Guardians?” Banal said randomly. “It was a mark of prestige and great power.” An’nas remembered Nolahra saying his father was once classified a Guardian…but a High Drake kind of Guardian? Not that it wasn’t believable. Nehnlin was his father’s Guardian, and he could turn into a dragon. 

Everyone stared in disbelief and shock, mixed with a healthy dose of fear. Banal’s ears twitched at the song it made. Then he smiled. 

“Remember this feeling next time one of you decides to do something stupid.” Minutes passed as they let that sink in. Banal went back to eating his elfroot juice, occasionally shaking his head as he almost drifted back asleep. 

“So…do elves just have a naturally high sex drive?” Bull asked in all seriousness. The elves blinked. “Well the boss is…” He motioned vaguely to Dorian and Banal. That seemed to lighten the Inquisitor’s mood as he laughed. 

“Actually, Bull, I’m far less…frisky than I was in my youth.” 

Dorian blinked and furrowed his eyebrows. The man could get in the mood at any given time! An argument could excite him. “What do you classify less?” 

Banal smirked. “Need I remind you that I’ve had eight children?” He cocked an eyebrow. “And you aren’t in my bed every night, all night, nor in the morning. And we haven’t snuck out in the middle of the day or anything of that nature so…less.” 

“I don’t need to know this about my father…” An’nas groaned, cheeks reddening which only made Banal laugh. 

“So you guys what hit puberty around 100?” Bull asked remembering Tahon saying he was 900 and something. 

“No our bodies grow similar to yours…probably,” Banal shrugged. “In our society, however, age was marked by experience rather than years as you mark yours. You don’t experience much of life between birth and a hundred.” 

“And you don’t get much time to experience things.” An’nas rolled his eyes. “It’s mostly lessons and other things like that.” 

“So you guys don’t have sex until a hundred?” 

Banal laughed loudly. “I lost my virginity when I was sixteen, Bull.” One thing ran through the Iron Bull’s mind: Damn was Dorian lucky to have **that** experienced of a man. “However, bonding and marriages didn’t happen until a hundred, as women had safer births.” He shrugged. “Between the ages of 100 and 1000 was generally considered to be the hormonal period of one’s life.” 

They all blinked. They didn’t know whether to be impressed, surprised, or horrified. Some who could not eat and handle sex talk had walked away, while others were too mystified to move. 

Either way, Banal finally got them to stop talking. 

***** 

Days continued much like the first. Banal spent most of the time asleep in the wagon as they travelled out of the desert. Eventually, and once they were back to the plains, Lotus agreed it would be fine for him to ride again. So long as he kept that stupid sling, of course. 

Banal sighed to himself. Raj, thankfully, moved with a gait, like most Harts. It meant a lot less jostling for his rider, which was probably why Lotus agreed to this in the first place. Well that, and the fact that the moment the damned Hart saw Banal, he ran up and licked his hair again. Except this time, Banal couldn’t dodge fast enough. 

He shivered at the memory of it. He wanted to get to a town where he could take a bath soon. Hell, he’d take a cold river at this point. 

His inner thoughts became disrupted as his ears flicked back. A small noise told him someone was bringing their mount near his. And they were…agitated. “Inquisitor, can I ask you a question?” The voice of Tabris floated to him as she pulled her horse next to his Hart. 

Banal’s ears twitched. Worry and anger swirled off her, but with the Taint in her blood, it made the songs garbled, out of tune. 

“I suppose you can. I may not have an answer, though,” he nodded, facing forward still. 

Lyllie took a deep breath. Hope was all she had left at this point. And no one could take that from her. “In the Fade, you…felt like an Awakened Darkspawn…sorta. The spirit Berserkarn thing did too…but different…” She trailed off, pretty sure she was babbling. 

“I can assure you, Commander, I am no danger to those around me. My…corruption is far different from your Darkspawn plague. If that is what you’re asking.” 

“Well that was a concern, but not the main one,” She laughed dejectedly. “Morrigan said you might be an…ancient elf God thing?” 

Banal cocked an eyebrow, “A Forgotten One, which was part of the pantheon, some saw me as that yes.” 

“So given you have a Corruption and are still alive…” Lyllie sighed. “I’m trying to cure my Taint is why I’m asking like a daft bastard too drunk to know his bits from a greased nug.” 

Banal chuckled. “Bluntness suits you. You’re terrible at subtlety.” The Warden giggled to herself. 

“You aren’t the first to tell me that actually.” They became silent as they both went off into thought. Only the sound of their mounts’ steps broke the silence. When Lyllie spoke, her voice was quiet, “I was told: once a Warden, always a Warden. But Fiona was one and now she’s not…So there has to be a way. I didn’t save all of Ferelden by taking on a fucking Archdemon just to end up in a pit full of ‘spawn.” Her anger flared, hands tightening on the reins. A high-pitched whining struck Banal’s ears. He winced visibly. Lyllie did a double take and quickly tried to rein in her temper. “Oh, sorry. Your son said you guys are sensitive to emotions; you can hear them or something.” She rubbed the back of her neck. 

“Similar to how you hear darkspawn, I suppose. You hear the Void in their blood that’s in yours,” Banal shrugged. “As for a cure…” He paused. He could do things normal people, mundane and magical, could not. So theoretically there might be a way for him…he’d have to talk with Fiona first of course, find out all he could on the Taint. “I shall think on it,” Banal finally gave. “Nothing is coming to mind, but Darkspawn are a relatively new phenomenon to me, so I don’t know much about them.” The Warden sighed in defeat. Sadness started in her song, despair. “But, keep in mind, Warden, you are surrounded by Elvhen. Perhaps collectively we might come up with something.” Her ears perked up at that, a bit of hope leaking back in her heart. It would first trickle, but like blood in water, it would soon mix and overtake her heart. 

“Thanks, I’d appreciate it.” She grinned. 

Banal didn’t add that there might be something in his memories. After all, according to the Seeker, Sulahn’mi was a Seeker, and Banal had given her that power instinctively. So there had to be something in the muck, right? 

He just hoped he liked what he found. 

***** 

_Monster. One word circled through his head over and over. It was just a word. It shouldn’t hurt. But it cut him to shreds with each repeat. He curled in on himself tighter, wrapping his arms around his knees in a desperate attempt to keep himself together._

 _As though something broken could be held together, could be fixed. Something as broken as him couldn’t be fixed, shouldn’t be._

 _

His jaw clenched, stopping the sobs he wanted to let out. Darkness surrounded him, mocking him. Not even the cool night air could push passed the oppressive feeling of that small room high above the swamp’s waters. 

It all seemed so distant. The crickets, the birds, the chattering of people in the market all were so far from him. A giant void seemed to stretch between him and the world, pressing in on him, trapping him there. 

Demon. That was what he was. A pathetic leech brought into the world by malice like a cruel joke. Tears escaped his eyes. Claws bit into his arms, drawing drops of blood. The place where the rock hit pulsed with pain. He deserved it. Every last bit of hate and disgust, he knew he deserved it. 

A choked sob found its way from his throat. Another followed. In the darkness of his room beneath the royal quarters, his cries echoed silently. No one was around. They all stayed far away lest the demon infect them. Like he was a disease. 

His claws dragged down his arms. Pain stung along in their paths. It felt nice, a release of tension. Red rivulets flowed down his skin to the wooden floor. It covered the sick markings that branded him. Something physical to match the emotional pain he couldn’t stop. 

It ran around in his head like a wild halla. ‘You are nothing’ echoed constantly inside him. His mother’s voice, then his grandmother’s, and then…everyone’s. All the hate and fear…every tiny emotion he heard from the time he woke up to the time he was finally granted reprieve and fell asleep, it cut. 

He wanted it all to stop. 

He wanted the marks gone. The hate: gone. The need to be loved: gone. He hated wanting to be loved so much he would bend over backwards. He would do nearly anything to keep them close. 

But he was just fooling himself. No one could love him. No one could want him. He was just nothing, created from the same Void as Corruption. 

His teeth ached as he gritted them together. His nails tore through flesh easily. His fingers stuck together from blood. He couldn’t even tell what was bleeding and what wasn’t anymore. 

He just wanted it gone. 

His hands moved to his head, clawing through his black hair. He pressed against his skull. Pressure built inside him, a scream he could never let out. Black started to leak out of him like a fog. His breathing quickened. More tears streamed out. Ice crackled as it grew on the floor. 

‘Go away,’ he told the demon, ‘I don’t want you. You aren’t me.’ His body rocked, tiny sobs choking him. 

‘Yes I am,’ it seemed to reply. He could feel the magic pooling between his shoulders, on his lower back, and behind his temples. The harder he pushed away, the tighter the choking feeling became. 

He just wanted it all gone.

_

***** 

Banal’s eyes snapped open, body bolting. His shoulder screamed as he fell hard against it. The wagon rocked gently beneath him. He must have fallen asleep in the saddle again. He did that often enough that it didn’t even surprise him that he had been back in his hammock. 

He lay there, staring at the ceiling. His eyes were scratchy and wet, eyelashes sticking together. The nightmare was too real. But was it a memory or a collection of them? That was the question circling his head as he listened to the wheels bounce along the rocky road. 

They must be near Tarasyl’an, judging by the incline he was at. And he must have bruised his shoulder for it pulsated angrily at him. He hissed to himself as he sat up. He might also have bruised his ribs. 

His eyes drifted down to his arms. Funny how he expected to see angry red lines marking his veins. But not even a scar marred the shifting greens and purples dancing inside the designs. Fear and despair. 

He sighed. Blue and purple, hate and despair, those were the colors he remembered seeming most in his magic, which changed as often as the marks. The hate came later of course, once he stopped trying to fool himself into thinking he could be normal. Such childish and foolish thoughts were those. 

Yet he couldn’t help but feel he had lost something important. Like the memory wasn’t finished. There was more to it all, something that took the shattered pieces and knitted them all together. 

Horns sounded behind him, stopping his musings. He supposed he didn’t have time to rifle through his thoughts. He had a pissed off daughter to contend with first. 

***** 

He didn’t say a word as he poked his head out of the wagon, looking about at the mountains. Raj bugled at him from where he was trotting behind. The Hart seemed all too happy to pick up the pace so he could do his customary greeting. 

“You know, Hart, I’m getting quite tired of this licking habit of yours,” Banal hissed as he dodged the tongue. He instead got hit with a loud snort in his face. Banal’s face twisted up in disgust, afraid to open his eyes and see. “If I didn’t need you at the moment, I’d tan you and make a nice set of armor.” 

Raj happily flicked his tail, enjoying his rider’s displeasure. Banal used his good shoulder to wipe at the wetness he felt on his face. His gag reflex started, but lacking anything in his stomach, it didn’t amount to much. 

“Do you really think he can understand you?” Bull asked as he watched the elf and Hart interact. Raj bugled loudly like he was insulted and complaining to his parent. 

Banal winced at the loud noise in his ear. For some reason, the Hart was blaring his emotions out, making a strange song behind his ears. It wasn’t like the song non-animals made; it was sort of natural like wind in the trees whistling. By the Void, don’t say he could pick up on **animal** emotions as well. 

“ ‘e understands more t’an most, T’e Iron Bull,” Nenara called out from her position near the spare mounts. “T’ey aren’t dumb animals wit’ nary a thought in t’eir ‘eads.” 

Raj’s large brown eyes framed with dark eyelashes watched the Inquisitor intensely as he moved to get in the saddle. While the wagon was still moving, mind you. His left hand took a hold of the Hart’s neck for balance as he managed to get his foot in the stirrup. After that it was a matter of swinging himself over and up. 

His jaw clenched down on a yelp of pain when moving hurt his shoulder. Definitely bruised it again. But years of masking pain surfaced, and his face betrayed nothing as he trotted his way to the front. Raj was all too happy to lead the merry war band, a twinkling sound like chirping birds coming from him. 

“So, Smiley, you seem very attached to that spear,” Varric started as the gates came into view. Banal sighed, knowing he was referencing how he refused to leave the Fade without the weapon strapped to his pack. 

“Just as you are with your crossbow and vague lead ins,” Banal countered. 

“Now, now, Bianca isn’t just some crossbow,” Varric chuckled, earning him eye rolls from everyone. 

“And you most certainly have a point you are trying to get to?” Banal cocked an eyebrow as the dwarf moved his mount closer to Raj. It was so much better to have a living mount for the Inquisitor. None of the mounts spooked, or shied, and you didn’t have to worry about getting cut in half if the corpse decided to swing its head towards you. 

“Does your spear have a name?” 

Banal stopped his Hart in bewilderment. For a moment, he just blinked at the dwarf. What sort of question was that? Every great warrior had a great weapon just as every great weapon had a name; those were the words he remembered…his father saying. But his mind didn’t conjure images of the black-haired, halla-horned asshole in the Fade. No he saw a kind smile, eyes the color of roses, and hair almost the color of apricots. 

He shook his head from the thoughts. Even Nehnlin’s bow had a name for the Void’s sake. “Of course it does; what sort of stupid question is that?” Banal scoffed, nudging Raj forward once more. Knowing the Hart would continue up the path (if only to get to the treats faster), Banal reached around to his pack and unhooked the weapon. He flipped it so the Elvish script just below the griffon showed. 

“Oh, I see now! Why didn’t I notice you had its name carved in an ancient language?” Varric mocked. 

Banal rolled his eyes, “It is hard to translate it fully, but I believe the closest you would get would be Kindness.” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Varric struggled to keep his laughter down, “You named your spear, Kindness?” The dwarf, Sera, and much of the forces within earshot started howling with laughter as Banal chuckled. 

“You have a saying that was similar to ours: to kill people with kindness,” He shrugged. So he took it literally. At least, he could claim that he did in fact kill with kindness. 

“But why that name?” 

Banal turned to smirk at the dwarf, “My father,” he paused noting how Varric and Dorian both stiffened, “not my sperm donor,” he amended out of instinct (an instinct he didn’t realize he had), “my father once told me that all great warriors named their weapons secret names that legend would forget.” 

“And you picked Kindness.” Bull chortled. 

The Inquisitor shrugged, “What can I say? I was a cheeky teenager.” He laughed at himself. “If it’s any consolation, legend remembers it as Godsbane.” 

Now that was a much better name for a deadly instrument of war. A bit cryptic, probably had some sort of story behind it, but better than Kindness. “Why Godsbane?” Blackwall asked from behind them. 

“Because I bested gods with it, or rather wanna-be gods.” The irony of him being the one to stand against Corypheus nor the irony of the weapon’s name was lost on them. “Beating down gods seems to be a vice of mine.” 

“I suppose we are quite fortunate to have you as the Inquisitor then,” Solas stated simply. Only the Elvhen could detect the sass in his voice, that hidden sardonic edge that was so frequent in their society. 

Banal paused and looked at him with a challenge in his eyes, “Yes, I pity the god who believes he can best me.” 

Tahon shifted uncomfortably in his seat by An’nas driving the wagon. The air between the two became tense and wrought with unspoken anger. He rather hated this being caught between two warring factions. It didn’t help that he could feel his father judging, or expecting or something. An’nas wasn’t much help either as he obviously didn’t like Solas. 

The gates of Tarasyl’an opened loudly, stopping all conversation thankfully. Then a new tension permeated the air. By now, everyone had heard of Banal’s brush with Death, and his trip to the Fade. And all were terrified to see the results. 

What if he was a darkspawn now? What if they had to kill him? What if his injuries were too great and he could no longer fight Corypheus? 

All meaningless worries, but they still made the air fraught with tension. Banal growled under his breath, ears flicking at all the noise it was making. How he wished he could go back to the time where he had to pay attention to people to hear their hearts. 

Horns sounded again, people instantly gathering as hooves clattered over the stones. The courtyard filled quickly with soldiers and civilians a like. Stable hands waited patiently to take the mounts, servants ready to receive belongings and start unpacking for the returning war band. 

He could already guess Josephine had the cooks prepare a relatively large feast as a welcome home gift. Hell he could smell it. Sadly, as his stomach reminded him, he couldn’t eat it. The organ clenched painfully as the dregs of sleep were finally coming off. His whole body began to awaken as it did every time he came out of the Uthenera-like sleep. 

Everything hurt. Despite it taking a week and a half to reach Tarasyl’an again, his body was still screaming it was injured. Granted he did nearly die, and he was healed very quickly, so his body was still strengthening the breaks with scar tissue. Lotus still feared he’d collapse his lung going up into the mountains. 

No matter, Banal thought. He pushed the pain away, carefully schooling his features to betray nothing. He was the Inquisitor; he couldn’t be seen as beaten or broken. He had to look confident, victorious. 

His feet had barely touched the ground when arms suddenly encircled him. He couldn’t help his hiss of pain as a body nearly tackled him. His shoulder screamed, but he swallowed it. He looked down, bewildered at the display of affection. 

Vhena’s pale head buried itself in his chest. Her small body shook, hands damn near clawing into his shirt. The whole fortress seemed to go silent. All he could hear was a loud, low song of despair. His eyes glanced up and saw everyone watching like they just now figured out that no matter what he was to them, he was a father to someone. And that the Inquisition might just take him away. 

He sighed, starting to grow uncomfortable with how close that annoying song was. His ears flicked back. “Vhena,” he started. Her hands just gripped him tighter like she would as a child. Another sigh and he placed his hand on top of her head. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” she hiccupped into his chest. Banal snorted making her raise her head just to glare. “Ever.” Her eyes were rimmed with red, eyelashes wet. 

“You know I can’t promise that,” He chastised gently. He wasn’t always going to be there. Even immortals died sometime and he was way passed the normal time to do so. Vhena, however, frowned. Something flickered behind her eyes that made Banal do a double take. But it was gone. 

“If you were more careful, you could,” she hissed. Banal couldn’t help but chuckle at her. “You better listen to An’nas and Lotus from now on, Papae.” And off she went, ranting. A smirk played on his lips as he tuned her out. She kept speaking in broken common tongue, switching to elvish more often than not. 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, stopping her tyrant. She blinked, as though the action was bewildering. Well, at least it got her to shut up. “Whatever you say, _da’vhenan_.” He mumbled, disentangling himself. Her mouth was still open in mid-sentence when he stepped back to watch her. 

It clicked shut as she leaned forward to stare hard into his face. “Are those tattoos?” She mumbled. Her eyebrows knitted together, “Are those **magic** tattoos? Who goes to a battle and comes back with magical tattoos? How do you even get magical tattoos?” 

Banal rubbed his temples as he felt a headache forming. Having a daughter was a pain in his ass. An’nas, he was sure, was enjoying this as he made no attempt at calming his twin. Another sigh came, this one chilling the air. 

“Vhena, if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” Banal smiled sarcastically. She opened her mouth, but he rose a hand to stop her, “No, no more talking. Just quiet now.” He had often repeated those words when she was small and trying to keep herself awake when she was supposed to go to sleep. 

She obviously remembered that too as she glared and huffed. “I’m not a child trying to stay up passed her bedtime, Papae. I’m lecturing.” 

“Shhhh, _da’vhenan_ , quiet time.” Banal chuckled, pressing a finger to her lips. “I never said **you** needed the nap.” 

***** 

Banal’s breath came in short little gasps by the time he got up to his room. His whole body was on fire. Pain radiated from every place. His magic, still just barely there, attempted to heal him out of instinct. 

He hissed, fever spiking. Black dotted his vision. He slumped against the door as he closed it. He struggled to breathe, sinking to the ground. He had managed to keep his pain from his face through the entire homecoming. 

Now he was paying the price. 

His head fell back against the door as he waited for the dizziness to pass. Tremors came up his muscles in waves. A low whine left him as the pain nearly made him throw up. If he ever met that son of a bitch that punted him, he was going to tear his skull from his body. 

Banal’s eyes moved to the stairs. He could hear the Fade calling him, coaxing him. Gritting his teeth, he stood, knowing full well that he would end up falling asleep on the floor if he didn’t. The floor was cold. So blissfully cold compared to him he would’ve been quite content to sleep there. 

Alas, he doubted that would do his bones any favors so he trudged up his stairs, tripping twice, to his bed. He shrugged out of his coat and the stiff shemlen vest Samahlnan had conjured from somewhere in his room. He threw them to the floor without a care before literally falling onto his bed. 

By the Void, an actual bed felt wonderful. It didn’t move underneath him. It didn’t bounce or rock. He still might fall out of it, but at least he wasn’t swinging. And it was soft. He managed to move himself up to the pillows, curling onto his side and shifting under one thing fur. Knowing him and his love of heat, he’d end up under them all before morning, fever or no. 

A blissful sigh escaped him as all his aches and pains began to melt away as the Fade grabbed him. 

_He was back in that dark room. The loud song behind his ears grew in intensity. The black struggled and clawed up his mind the more he pushed it back. His fingers dug into his scalp. His sobs choked him as much as the feeling of hands trying to drag him down. Frost crept over the flooring, snow starting to fall from the very air._

 _A quiet knock broke through the loud song. “Mahviir?” whispered from the other side of the wooden door. His body shook more. His heart panicked. His hands flew to his mouth to prevent any noise from coming out of him. His tail curled tighter against his leg, wanting to tuck but couldn’t._

 _

He never wanted him to see him like this again, when his demon was out and he could see nothing in the world beyond the darkness. 

“I’sa’ma’lin (brother), Elgar’nan’s here; said something was wrong,” Alhadhru’s voice wavered a bit, like he was biting his lip as he often did, “Did something happen when you were out?” 

His heart sped up, trying to think of a lie. Guilt started to mar the air underneath the door. If he blinked and allowed the clear membrane down over his eye, he could see the emotion shifting in the air currents. Just go away, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Viir,” came another voice, this one gruff, deeper, “if you don’t open the door, I’m kicking it down.” His body shivered, not from fear or revulsion, but from how pleasant the voice was. His soul reacted automatically without giving his brain and heart any input. 

A few words whispered between the two outside before a key rattled in the door. His heart stopped. He gripped and clawed for control over his body, trying to block away the tears, push away the Shadow. 

“Sure, make this less dramatic, Alha,” Elgar’nan rolled his eyes as the door squeaked open. But he quickly sobered as his eyes fell on Mahviiral. They betrayed a warmth, softness that no one ever saw in the jewel-like irises. 

Beside him was a shorter boy, just barely being old enough for his voice to drop, with a shock of pure white hair combed neatly to fall on his shoulder like silk. Silver vines wove together into a clasp that kept his bangs out of his face and pulled to the back of his head. Skin pale as ivory, eyes the color of dawn, Alhadhru, scion of House Lavellan, was how a Lavellan should look like: pure. 

Elgar’nan, in contrast, was a warrior despite never seeing war. It was in his stance, how he walked and held his head. From the golden skin to light gold hair he kept short, he was what one might picture when one said Sun Prince. 

And Mahviiral was nothing but a Shadow. He curled in tighter, wanting to shrink and disappear. 

Elgar’nan frowned, their connection brightening as he opened it further. It hummed and beat erratically with their separate hearts. Mahviir tried to push it away, close it, but the brightness remained. While it didn’t allow them to read each other’s minds, emotions could flow freely between them. 

The Prince rubbed his forearms, feeling pinpricks of electricity shooting along his veins. He strode across the floor as though going to engage an enemy. Mahviiral automatically shrank back. 

As irrational as it was, he was frightened of what he’d do if he saw the blood. Would he yell? Become disgusted and leave? Or tell him he was just being dramatic? He didn’t think he could handle any of those. He tried desperately to blink away the tears, hiding his arms. 

“Hey, now,” Elgar’nan’s hand wrapped around one of his wrists, gently tugging it back. “Let me see,” his tone was soft, patient as he crouched in front of him. Mahviiral couldn’t meet the turquoise gems staring at him. Alhadhru’s steps were silent as the assassin’s his house was known for. 

Slowly his arm was pulled forward. The cuts weren’t bleeding still…at least it looked that way. The blood was smeared all over his skin, making it hard to tell. 

A strange, foreign flicker of sadness ignited inside his heart, a twisting of the organ. He looked up at the two, seeing purple drift through the air as surely as it lit up his marks. His second eyelid lifted, clearing his vision some. 

Elgar’nan’s face was a mask, though his grip had moved to his hand, thumb stroking the black mark absently. His eyes wandered up his arm to the cuts curling around his biceps, then up to the large bruise on the side of his head. 

The Prince’s jaw flexed, free hand brushing Mahviir’s short black hair away from the spot. Anger sparked in the air so thick it took Mahviir’s breath away. His heart started to beat frantically, eyes dilating. He pulled away, the markings flaring in warning. 

Elgar’nan blinked, sensing the distress he was causing. He licked his lips, working the tension out of his muscles with some effort. “Ir abelas,” a soft kiss pressed against his palm. Snow fell into his blond hair as Mahviiral’s wings shuddered. 

Alhadhru coughed, subtly reminding them of his presence when their eyes lingered too long. The young boy shifted awkwardly on his feet. His cheeks flushed red as he stared helplessly at the wall. 

Both of them sighed. Elgar’nan grumbled something under his breath, before chastely kissing the bruise. He grabbed the other arm and held them both out for inspection. At the bloody sight, Alha returned his stare to his older brother. Though it would not help, his eyes prickled with tears. He had told Mother she shouldn’t send him alone; villagers were cruel when not in the presence of royalty. 

But she had, and he was beginning to think it was purposeful. He crouched down as well, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. A little ice magic wet it so he could wipe the dried blood away. The cuts were long and deep, but the strange magic Mavhiiral possessed flooded them, sealing them shut without healing. 

The Sun Prince shifted so his legs were on either side of the dark haired elf sitting sideways to him. He leaned his chin against his shoulder. Warmth radiated from him, beating back the chill the Shadow created. The frost snapped and hissed as it melted. 

Mahviir winced as the warm fire started to hit the wounds. It stung sharply as the skin drew closed. Electricity danced over the bruise as it too healed. “There,” Alhadhru mumbled as Elgar’nan finished healing. He tossed the soiled fabric away almost daintily. 

The Heir to the Empire started laughing, “You did not just do that.” 

Alhadhru blinked, orange brightening his eyes, “Do what?” 

“Toss that silk handkerchief like…wait why do you have a silk handkerchief?” 

The boy sighed loudly, “Mother had me meet another lady.” 

Mahviir’s lips twitched as he fought not to smile. He leaned into the warm embrace he was offered; slowly his muscles unlocked. Elgar’nan shifted, arms holding him tighter. They both knew they wouldn’t talk about what had happened until they were asleep and safe in their little dream pocket. There neither could hide; neither could lie. 

Alhadhru glanced over at the two, another blush creeping over his high cheekbones. “I’m sure she was a lovely young lady,” Elgar’nan teased with a smile. “And you apparently wooed her enough that she left you with a token, you little heartbreaker you.” 

The boy’s cheeks darkened as he frowned, “She was nice, but…” 

Mahviir’s ears twitched, earrings twinkling. Despair, guilt, frustration. Something wrong. His eyes narrowed on his baby brother, magic rooting out what was causing the noise. Alhadhru jumped, feeling the cold prickle of Mahviir’s magic touch him. He shook his head, throwing up barriers. 

But his magic was useless against the Void’s, which was far older. “Mahviir…” the teenager whined. Fear struck him like he had been slapped. He physically recoiled, withdrawing in a heartbeat. His jaw clenched, tail tucking. Alhadhru winced as well, “No, it’s fine, you’re fine; it’s just…” he stammered trying to reach out to his brother, but unsure if he should. 

“You should ask first?” Mahviir supplied with more effort than it should’ve required. His throat still felt restricted, mind blocking words from coming out. At least in the dream pocket, he didn’t have to speak. He could show. 

“Yeah,” Alha smiled sadly. The trio sat in silence for an age it seemed. 

Slowly Mahviiral’s wings, tail, and horns receded, his heart calming. The warmth soothed away the cold, light driving the shadow back. 

“Hey, go get some cards, Alha,” Elgar’nan commanded. The young white prince cocked an eyebrow before he amended, “Please.” He always forgot the please. He was used to only conversing with servants, squires, and other people who he was taught were below him. 

“But you are terrible at cards,” Alhadhru chuckled making the Sun Prince frown. 

“Am not. Tell him, Viir.” 

Mahviiral gave a choked laugh looking between the two, “You really are terrible at cards, ‘Nan.” 

Elgar’nan’s face turned into a pout as he glared at his nas’falon. “Well, I’m still learning how to play,” he tried, “Normally I’m only allowed to ‘play’ chess.” And even then it was battle practice, teaching him how to be ruthless and calculating, viewing the battlefield as nothing more than pieces in a game. 

Mahviiral chuckled, kissing his temple, “I’ll teach you.” Elgar’nan smiled. A flicker of desire flitted through their connection, their bodies drawing closer. 

His brother snorted, interrupting the moment, “Teach him what? How to cheat?” 

He pretended to be offended rather than disappointed, “I would never cheat, da’hale. That would require me to let you lose.” Elgar’nan snorted as he tried to hide his laughter. Alhadhru’s mouth fell open as his older brother merely smiled sweetly. 

“Oh that’s it. You’re going down, Viir.” The boy stood up with a huff and went to the door. He paused and looked back at the two, knowing he was falling for their trap. “Don’t think I don’t know you two just want me out of the room so you can make out.” 

Elgar’nan gave him a toothy grin, “Yeah, well, if you don’t hurry your ass up, I’m going to start with you as an audience.” As though to ensure the threat was received as a promise, he grabbed Mahviir’s chin and tilted it up, eyes watching from the corners as the boy blushed. 

“Alright, alright, sheesh, I’m going.” He grumbled as he slipped out the door. 

“That was cruel, you know,” Mahviir chastised as lips brushed his. A laugh vibrated against his mouth. A slow kiss coaxed the tiny flame inside them, tongues brushing over each other. 

“Well, it got him out of the room, right?” Elgar’nan chuckled.

_

Banal shot up in bed. His heart hammered in his chest. His lips tingled with the memory. He looked around, finding his room to still be the same. Same Inquisition heraldry, same Serault glass, same Orlesian silk bed. 

He took a few shuddering breaths as he tried to quell the uneasiness the dream caused. Strangely, it didn’t upset him that the object of desire in the dream was Elgar’nan. Those embers had long been dowsed it seemed, or perhaps he had accepted their death as necessary. Whatever the case may be, the Sun King’s presence didn’t bother him. 

It was Alhadhru’s. A great pain clenched his chest at remembering his sweet smile. Vhena smiled just like him, eyes lighting up with mischief. An’nas had the sharp edge of those eyes, a trademark of the Lavellans. Though he could remember the boy so clearly, he couldn’t remember why it hurt to think of him. 

He pressed a hand to his chest as though to push the pain away. Why do you hurt so much? He wondered. A longing pulled at him. Banal sighed loudly to the dead air. He supposed he’d have to wait for his memories to settle again. 

Speaking of memories…His mind flashed to the earring the spirit wore. If Elgar’nan was his _nas’falon_ , soul twin, it would make sense for them to have been bonded, though completely absurd. The dark part of him revolted at the thought. The lighter part twisted up with great agony. They had fought each other tooth and nail, damn near killed each other despite being able to feel each other’s pain. 

He shook his head away from the stupid sentimentality. Elgar’nan had killed him. There. Done. End of story. It didn’t matter what had gone on before; the end result was the same. 

Yet, his mind wandered to the earring, a piece missing. Why did a spirit have that earring? Did it assume Elgar’nan’s form to bring Banal comfort? Or…his stomach twisted, refusing let his mind wander down the possibility of it actually being Elgar’nan. 

A strange compulsion started in the back of his head. He supposed there was only one way to figure out if they had been bonded, or if they were just a fling like he hoped they were. Not all _nas’falon_ bonded as not all were romantically attracted to each other. Hell, some were related like Vhena and An’nas. Others were just friends like Dirthamen and Falon’Din. 

Banal’s eyes drifted to his eluvian set up where the loveseat (now sitting in front of the fireplace) once sat. The nagging feeling of wanting to know how the Fade dream ended pulled him to it. He didn’t even notice how the coldness of the room didn’t seem to affect him as he stood. 

The mirror’s surface rippled as he neared. Someone had used it while he slept. He frowned, but supposed he hadn’t locked his door. He kind of asked for it. A sigh left him as he walked through the blackness. 

Eluvians always made one’s skin tingle, like you passed through a magic barrier. He shivered, shaking off the feel as he exited in the throne room. An’nas and Vhena both turned their attention. They stopped dead in their tracks as they blinked. 

“Papae, what are you doing here?” Vhena asked, shifting her box. 

Banal cocked an eyebrow at the twins. “I could ask you the same question, _da’vhenan_.” She looked sheepish, white eyelashes brushing her cheeks as she batted them. Even still, Banal was quite immune to her cuteness and remained stoic. The twins often got into mischief and mayhem when his back was turned and he suspected no different here. 

An’nas rolled his eyes, “Sama wanted a book and something else she had forgot,” He motioned to Vhena’s bundle, “Lotus needed a plant,” He held up the pot he was carrying. 

“They didn’t want to wake you, so we offered to go,” Vhena finished. “So what are you doing when you should be resting?” Banal rolled his eyes at her “stern” tone. 

He turned back to the large eluvian with a sigh. His magic switched the mirror off. Most just thought it another mirror, which he supposed it was. But it was also a seal, one he hoped he never had to break. 

“I wanted to try and find something,” He stated simply. The twins shared a skeptical look. 

“With the mirror?” An’nas asked as they stood on either side of their father. Sure there were ways of finding other eluvians with one, but somehow he didn’t think his father meant that. Banal sighed, shaking his head. 

He reached out a hand. Black wisps floated from his fingertips to the mirror. He winced as the magic was still raw. 

“Papae!” Vhena scolded just as the seal crackled. Whatever compliant/lecture she had been about to spout, it was cut off by a shifting sound. Cold air blew into the room, a strange fog spilling from behind the mirror. The twins blinked as the eluvian slowly moved to the side, revealing another part of the Temple. They didn’t know there was a room back there. 

Not that you could see said room. A thick darkness beyond the hole was all that was visible. The smell of decay permeated the air. A prickling sensation rose the hairs on their necks as they followed their father through the doorway. 

Void fire sprang to life, bathing the room in a purplish glow. It cast shadows over the bones of a dragon in one corner. Other bones lay forgotten on the mossy ground. Death mingled with earthy smells as though the swamp tried to hide what had happened in that room. 

Blood flowed from a dais into clear water, turning it to the red rivers that ran out into the throne room. A stream trickled down over another doorway at the end of the hall/room. They looked around amazed and horrified. 

Tiny whispers faded and rose behind their ears. Their skin prickled. Magic flared around them, dancing in the air like dust moats. The “Veil” was non-existent here. Beyond that, there was no barrier between the Fade and the Void. The latter poured into the stones, the air, giving life to everything in the Temple’s walls. 

Just as it had taken life from the bones of the dragons and the person laying near the dais. 

“Papae…what is this place?” Vhena asked warily. Her ears quivered. A part of her stirred, trying to come out, but it found no purchase. An’nas, on the other hand, struggled to keep the dark part away, focusing on his father’s quiet song rather than the whispering behind his ears. 

“The old Temple,” Banal shrugged, heading for the door. His eyes caught on the dais. He remembered waking there after he had “died” to find so much blood and his swamp gone. 

He shook his head and walked towards what was his rooms before he could no longer stand the Void. The stream parted for them. Once it had been a waterfall, Banal remembered sadly. So much of his home was gone, torn away. 

A sigh left him, a white cloud forming. The halls lit up wearily with shifting colors. It barely had enough light to beat back the dark as they trekked further in. Soon they reached an old door halfway off its hinges. Banal had done that. 

In the nights after his “resurrection”, he had often lost control over himself. He had pounded and blasted and clawed whatever he could find. 

He swallowed bile, remembering those dark nights. Hopefully he hadn’t destroyed the chest… 

The door squealed as it opened, revealing a highly damaged room. The bedframe was broken in two, fabrics in shreds. Chunks of stone were missing from the walls and floors; gouges decorated nearly every inch. A table was nothing more than broken pieces, books and papers with burned edges thrown all over the room. 

“And you told us we had to keep our rooms clean,” An’nas snorted quietly. Vhena smacked his shoulder, glaring. 

Banal looked around the room, hesitating stepping inside. Malice and anger had seeped into the stones just as much as his blood had stained them. His jaw clenched. One step at a time, he told himself. 

His body coiled tightly as he stepped over debris. His eyes scanned the furniture. A large chest sat still at the end of the bed. Claw marks were all that damaged it aside from rust. His breath caught. Did he really want to know? Would it be better to know or to be ignorant? 

His mouth was dry as he knelt in front of the chest. A spell’s whisperings graced his ears in the silence. His hands shook as he touched the lid. 

“A chest?” Vhena asked perplexed, “Is this what you were looking for?” 

“What’s so special about the chest?” An’nas said at the same time. The lid shrieked as it was opened for the first time in a few thousand years. 

The inside was still lined with silk, though moths had eaten parts. Old leather journals were stacked on one side. Letters were everywhere. Jewels and what used to be clothing lay on the other side. An old rapier rested on them all with a small lock box near its handle. Old swamp charms he had remembered wearing in his hair lay amongst the chaos. 

Banal’s eyes fell on the crest that was engraved on both the rapier and the box’s lid. A griffon with a dagger in one hand (the symbol of assassins) and a wand in the other (the symbol of royalty): House Lavellan’s crest. 

The twins both watched over his shoulders as he picked up the box. The lock had long been broken, the metal vines creating the latch flipping up easily. The lid opened without a sound. Banal’s heart sank as though it just realized it had been broken. 

Nestled in a deep blue velvet lay a dark, pearlescent blue silk band that shimmered in the low light. Peeking from it was a little drakestone sun. Carefully he pushed the fabric that still sung of its enchantments though the edges were frayed. An earring made of thin bones wrapped in dark blue thread lay in his hand. The tiny stones flashed their blue veins. 

“What’s that?” Vhena asked, noting how her father’s eyes darkened at the sight. 

It took a moment for his mouth to work. “Nothing,” His voice cracked so he cleared it before continuing, “just a memory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just so you know I love An'nas tearing the Inquisition a new one.
> 
> Don't tell Dorian, but I like Mahviiral/Elgar'nan (dubbed Viirnan for pun-y reasons) a tiny bit more than Banal/Dorian. Just a tiny bit.
> 
> Next chapter...oh please save me...Let's just say I really wish you all ignore your emails that say I released it. Please. PLEASE. It just sort of a filler chapter. Probably will have at least it and another filler. I might combine the next chapter with the part where An'nas and Vhena get to go dragon hunting with their father as a birthday gift, or I might combine it with companion quests like Bull's, maybe throw Blackwall's or Sera's...


	27. Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two kinds of healing to be found in Skyhold: Cole's and Dorian's.
> 
> Guess which on Banal likes more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: You're welcome ;)
> 
> Alternative alternative title: Many of you have asked for it, and now I have delivered...* _looks around suspiciously and whispers_ * the SMUT (poorly written as promised XD)
> 
> Beta'd by Megan140 once again.

_“Most people think spirits would never possess us; we are too similar and in the same breath they would deny the very idea that we were spirits once. Fools all I say._

 _“By accessing the Vir Dirthara and conversing with the Archivist and Librarians, I have found records of the time of the Scourge, before his rise to power that is. Our ancestors certainly believed themselves to have been spirits. In fact, their beliefs were such that they had living idols: individuals who were supposedly a “fresh” spirit, or one who was recently a spirit._

 _

“And of course, there are reports of our incorporeal friends willing themselves into corporeal existence. Yet, despite all this evidence, my colleagues scoff at the idea that the Scourge’s legends be true. ‘Why’ they say ‘would a spirit possess someone who was as depraved as him?’ They laugh at the idea of a Spirit of Corruption. 

“But they have not seen my subject as hidden as he is. They have not seen his eyes go black, the horns materialize from the very air. They haven’t felt the electricity build, felt the air whip around in a stagnant cell.” 

_

Banal rubbed his scratchy and tired eyes. The old book lay flat on his desk, the candle near it starting to flicker out. He had been up since the dim-lit dawn hours, reading through dusty old tomes he had found amongst his old chest (now sitting comfortably at the end of his bed). Remarkably, hidden throughout the various books were these notes, pages ripped from some book and stuffed away to be forgotten. 

It seemed to be research notes of some kind. Judging from the wording, he’d hazard a guess and say the author was not the most…socially able scholar in the world. They seemed rather cold hearted and sadistic in some passages while others they seemed to just be an overzealous researcher of some kind. 

Either way, Banal got a gut feeling that the “subject” the scholar was referring to was none other than Sulendys. Which just gave more questions than answers at this point. In earlier passages, the scholar said Sulendys was captured in Banal’rasan, what everyone outside of there called Banal’han, after he had brutalized the princess Lavellan. 

Vhena came up with the name Lavellan…didn’t she? He furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to think through the fog. If she didn’t, that meant that someone had known him from before. Which was absurd. The only one that was possibly that old was Nolahra. His head started to throb painfully again. 

Why couldn’t he remember?! It was his head! Yet it was like he was surrounded by fog with enemies on all sides; occasionally he got a glimpse of them before they faded back into grey nothingness. He liked it better with the barrier, he thought bitterly, looking back down at the notes. 

He thought they’d help his memories settle down, but the only thing he got from anything in that chest was a headache. A sigh slipped out of him as he leaned back in his chair. His back crackled as it unbent. His fever was still ever present, his right arm still in a sling despite them being back in Tarasyl’an for a few days. Lotus was working slowly on it, but the healer was more concerned with his lungs and other organs. The only excuse Lotus could give for his slow recovery was the Veil. 

He ran a hand through his loose hair. Vhena would be up in a few hours to braid it since he couldn’t use both hands. Plus, she said how he wore his hair was ‘too simple’. How Rithara put up with her need for elaborate styles was beyond him. Of course, she probably didn’t care one way or the other. 

His eyes fell on a sentence mentioning the Scourge. Banal had heard tales of the Scourge, but they were just myths, stories old wives told around a fire. Any record there might have been of this myth were sealed away or burned. Yet this scholar said he found evidence in the Vir Dirthara. 

“Stupid fucking Solas and making a Veil…” He growled to the air. The library was probably ripped apart or lost under a mountain or something, so he couldn’t go see what evidence there was. Besides, that portion of the library was probably so heavily guarded, the spirits wouldn’t let him through. The scholar seemed to be sanctioned by the Sun King. Why, he could not say. 

Were they trying to figure out Sulendys’s…unique circumstances? Why? 

Of course, he would find no answers asking himself. He gave another hefty sigh and shifted the papers to another passage. 

_“…should a body be possessed and the spirit never extracted, is it not possible for the two to become one? Would it not change the very makeup of the host’s body? Would they not then pass it on to their children?_

 _“The subject only smirks as always at my theories. Like he finds me an amusing subject. He is far more docile than you’d expect of a demon-blood.”_

Banal snorted at the last sentence. He recalled the man holding him face down in a pool of water. Yeah he was entirely docile. In earlier passages the scholar referred to Sulendys as ‘it’, but after what seemed to be several months, they started using ‘he’ as though he suddenly became a person. 

Banal would bet his entire castle Sulendys manipulated the scholar in some way. He’d bet his whole desert the scholar didn’t even realize when he had taken control. 

_“Further research is required for full proof, but I believe my theory to be correct. I wish I could have a spirit possess an apprentice to test it! Alas the Sun King has forbid it. Some people just don’t understand the price of knowledge._

 _“No matter. I can make do with the subject._

 _

“Speaking of which, his healing capabilities are…astounding for lack of a better term. Almost immediately after a whipping, his wounds are sealed by a sort of electrical current. By morning, they have been eaten away. Not healed. **Eaten**. There is no evidence of scar tissue that would suggest he heals them. They are merely gone…”

_

He had noticed when he had regained his mind in the Fade that his wounds were sealed with ice. Was that just a part of being…whatever he was? 

If he was reading correctly, the scholar theorized that a Corruption Spirit possessed the Scourge. The two never parted and so the spirit fused with the Scourge and so his physical makeup was changed. Banal rubbed his temples in frustration. That made little sense. Was he mortal or was he spirit? He couldn’t be half-spirit right? He was so absorbed in his own thoughts he didn’t hear his door open. 

“Inquisitor, I was—,” Josephine stopped at the top of the stairs. The elf sat amidst a menagerie of scrolls, parchments and opened books, looking to be the center of a hurricane. “I beg your pardon; I did not realize you were…” She didn’t know what he was doing actually. Elvish script marked the pages, so he wasn’t practicing the common tongue, “…what is it that you are doing exactly?” 

Banal finally glanced up at her. He shifted in his seat as though the answer made him uncomfortable. “My memories are…all jumbled together, each trying to get my attention…I thought these might help,” he sighed. It was a vain hope. After all, half were the rantings of a lunatic and the other half were…spy notes. There were at least five about plots to kill Elgar’nan, and the rest were notes on different leaders involved in a possible coupe. 

“Ah, I see,” Josephine nodded hesitantly, walking further in. 

“What was it you needed, Josephine?” The Antivian smiled, remembering how not long ago she was merely Ambassador, Cullen was just Commander and Leliana was simply Spy Master. While she doubted the change was solely from Adamant, she couldn’t help but notice how the Inquisitor was different since then. He was less combative, less brutish and crass when it came to nobles he disliked. He was certainly less hostile, which made her job much easier. 

Josephine looked down at her clipboard as she did every morning now that the Inquisitor could not leave for an adventure. “There are a few guests who wish to meet you,” she started, “Varric has requested you see him when you could, Ser Blackwall seems to have vanished this morning, and Lord Erimond awaits your judgment.” She checked them off as she went down. 

Banal sighed loudly, rubbing his temples again. Beyond that list, Cassandra had located the Seekers, Cole was having a paranoid crisis, another earthquake had Orsammar yelling for help, red lyrium was being smuggled through the Graves and oh yeah, they still didn’t know what Corypheus planned to do next. 

Josephine watched as weariness cloaked the elf. It seemed the burden of his title was pressing down on his shoulders. “That is if you feel up to it, Inquisitor,” She supplied, “You’ve only just returned; our guests will understand should you—“ 

“It is fine, Josephine, no need to coddle me,” Banal grumbled. Everyone needed to see him whole and well after Adamant. If he made excuses of every ache and pain…no too much rode on this Inquisition working. He gazed at the writings once more. “I’ll be down in a bit to greet our guests. Get Leliana’s people on finding where Blackwall went off to and tell Varric I will speak with him after Erimond is dealt with this afternoon. Anything else?” 

The woman bit her lips, wondering if it was all right for her to place her burden onto shoulders already sagging with weight. Banal’s ears twitched as fear, guilt, despair, and pride all swirled around the Antivian. Much like an endless tide of emotions slamming against the Cliffside in a typhoon, they were deafening. 

“Spit it out, Josephine,” He sighed, “You are far too loud for this early in the morning.” That was another thing that was different. The Inquisitor often stated things were too loud and would retreat into silent places like the small library below her room. It was his quiet place where none could enter save him. Even his children let him be down there, though Vhena (thanks to Josephine) had taken to painting the walls down there. 

The Ambassador looked up at him and blinked from both confusion and amazement at the glittering colors dancing through those strange marks. 

“I do have a…personal matter to discuss,” She hesitated until Banal sat back and nodded for her to continue. His piercing eyes watched her intently, as a dragon would its prey. However, she had grown used to that stare; it only meant she had his undivided attention, even if he was only imagining how to kill her. “I’ve been trying to overturn my family’s exile in Orlais and I’ve almost succeeded…” 

It was child’s play, instinctive to follow the thread of emotions to her heart. Murder was what it told him. “Someone murdered someone.” 

She stammered at his matter-of-fact tone. Almost like he read her mind, which was absurd; there was no such thing as telepathy. “I, uh, yes. Someone murdered my messengers and the documents restoring my family’s trading status were destroyed.” 

Banal nodded, “Do you know who might’ve done this?” 

“No, but I do have a lead. A comte in in Val Royeaux says he has information, but requests he be seen publicly conferring with you,” She grumbled the last bit bitterly. Banal snorted and rolled his eyes. Yet another influence monger. 

“Arrange the meeting; I can’t have you worrying over this when Corypheus strikes,” he waved his hand dismissively. ‘Plus,’ he added in his head, ‘I owe you for handling every noble idiot who comes here.’ 

Josephine blinked in surprise. That was…surprisingly easy; was it this easy for all the others? “I…thank you, Inquisitor.” 

“Do not read too much into this, Josephine,” Banal smirked as the song quieted, “I’m bored and talking to diplomats is about the only thing Lotus will let me do.” 

***** 

Vhena bounded in not long after Josephine, An’nas not far behind. As usual, Vhena was perky, chattering about random things as she went through her motions. Opening the curtains, making the bed, etcetera, before she finally turned to him with her little comb he had bought eons ago. 

A small town far from Arlathan held within its clutches an artisan who was quite happy to make such a bobble with the amount of coin Banal had flashed. The crystal it was carved from had gold leafing that was beginning to shed. Still it glittered and shone with prisms of color. 

Much like her eyes when she had a devious smile on her face…like now. Banal narrowed his eyes immediately. “What are you up to?” He grumbled from his seat. 

She only giggled, “Nothing.” He looked to An’nas who could only shrug. They shared emotions, not thoughts. He walked over to his father, a small roll of bandages in his hand. Banal sighed, pushing his chair back and turning towards him. 

Most of the stitching was gone by now, leaving behind light scars, but some still remained. Apparently, whatever Banal had used in the Fade had prevented Lotus’s magic from healing without scars or perhaps it reacted to the healer’s magic. 

Either way, he wasn’t happy about it. Now he had a long scar over his nose and cheek, and the left corner of his jaw looked like it had gotten into a fight with a bear’s claws. He supposed he couldn’t complain too much. They were light and hardly as noticeable as the damn tattoos. 

An’nas slipped his arm from the sling. Magic swirled around him as he checked how the muscle was mending. Banal twitched slight at the electrical shocks prickling his shoulder. 

“Well, it’s healing; the bone’s set, but the muscle is still piecing itself together,” An’nas mumbled. Banal grumbled under his breath about it taking too long. “Yeah, well, remember this next time you decide to almost die.” 

Both of them glared at each other. Stubborn, they both thought. A flash of Alhadru overlapped An’nas’s face for a moment. Banal’s glare morphed into a pained surprise. They had argued a lot and Alha always glared like that, unafraid of him… 

A sharp spike of pain shot through his eyes to the back of his skull. He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“ _Papae_?” An’nas’s fingers touched his skull, little threads of healing sparking out. They soaked into the nerves, blocking the signals. A few moments passed before Banal calmed his breathing. “Those headaches keep coming…” 

Banal nodded quietly. He had told Lotus about the sharp pains that would come from the memories. All the healer said was a memory block that powerful and that old would take time to fully heal; he shouldn’t push himself, blah blah blah. It wasn’t as though Banal wanted to recall these random memories. He didn’t even know he had them! 

An’nas stepped back, watching him warily, “Well, Lotus thinks you can stop wearing the sling so long as you behave.” Banal smirked. As though he ever behaved. 

“Josephine said you were holding judgements today,” Vhena chirped happily. She looked over the different clothes she had spread out on his bed, completely oblivious to the other two. 

“I can pick out my own clothing, Vhena,” Banal grumbled. It was the same conversation they had every morning. As always, she merely turned to him with her tongue stuck out, not hearing a word of objection. “I think she does this out of spite,” he growled quietly enough that only An’nas heard him. 

His son chuckled, “Either that or she thinks you lack style.” Banal glared up at him like ‘ha ha very funny’. 

“Oh, here we go!” Vhena exclaimed, picking up the coat he had worn to Halamshiral. She grabbed an icy blue shirt, thin enough to see through, but the iridescent shimmer made it solid. She trotted happily over to him. 

Banal sighed, standing up. He snatched the shirt from her with his good arm. He might not be able to raise the other very high, but he could still use it. ‘Void be praised for that at least,’ he thought. Otherwise, he’d really have to have help getting dressed. 

He gritted his teeth as he pulled the shirt over his head with one arm. An’nas gently helped him maneuver the other through the sleeve. Vhena tugged the golden string laces a bit to close but not close the collar. She smiled sweetly, kissing his cheek like she always did. 

“Your need for affection is draining,” Banal growled as she took the coat and went over to the loveseat. 

“And your hatred for it is rejuvenating,” She giggled. 

“Spite, she does this out of spite,” Banal whispered to An’nas again. “I just wish I knew what I did to deserve this.” 

“Weeeellll, you did start not one, but two wars to end the world…At least your punishment is kisses and playing dress up,” An’nas countered with a snicker. Banal rolled his eyes, but mentally gave that round to his son. He had a point. 

“I’m not playing dress up,” Vhena huffed. “I never did play dress up.” 

“Hairstylist then?” 

She shrugged in indifference. 

Banal snorted, “Vhena, I do recall being subjected to tea parties when you two were younger. Tea parties that required me to look a certain way…now I might be an Elder, but I do believe that was called playing dress up.” She pouted, trying to look innocent. “I’m immune to your charms, Vhena.” 

“Well you shouldn’t be. That one works on everyone. Especially Bull and Varric.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, “What did you con out of them now?” He seriously needed to have a training session on willpower. 

Vhena smirked, “Nothing…I just got them to help me make flower crowns…I got Cassandra to do one too.” She twisted in place, swishing her robes around her leggings. Banal sighed. Three of the best fighters Thedas had to offer…rendered completely powerless in the face of one small Elvhen girl wanting to make flower crowns… 

“That’s great, Vhena,” An’nas laughed, “Next try that on Corypheus and save _Papae_ a war.” 

Her grin brightened, “I don’t think he’d look very good in a flower crown.” She draped the coat over the armrest. 

“So long as his head wasn’t attached to his body…” Banal grumbled. “And Vhena, please refrain from wrapping all of my people around your little finger. I need them able to fight, not ready to start new fashion trends in Orlais.” 

Vhena only laughed. “So I should just settle for having you?” 

At that Banal actually barked a laugh, “As though I’m under your spell? _Da’vhenan_ I have changed your diapers, washed you, cleaned your bed, went through your puberty phase—“ 

“Stop!” Both the twins yelled out, cheeks brightening. Banal chuckled evilly at them. 

“Whatever charm you have deflects off of me.” Granted he did give her some sway, mostly because she whined and he found that super annoying. But once he grounded her from cake. She still hasn’t eaten a slice. 

“Yet you still let her do your hair…” An’nas countered. 

Banal walked over to her. “Because no matter how much I tell her not to, she still does it. Rather like you tracking mud all over the Temple or climbing the vines in the Garden…” Banal gazed steadily at An’nas who looked away guiltily. “But he does have a point,” He turned back to his daughter, “why do you insist upon this?” 

“You do your hair the same way everyday like always,” she pouted, “and with your arm you can’t exactly brush your own hair.” 

“I happen to like how I style my hair,” Banal snorted. 

Vhena rolled her eyes, “It’s boring.” 

He reached out and grabbed a strand of her own loose white hair. “Says the girl who only wears her hair two ways.” 

She stuck her tongue out again and Banal could only roll his eyes, taking his place on the loveseat. He pulled his legs up, leaning his back against the armrest, hair flowing behind him to the floor. Vhena pulled her seat up to it; An’nas brought an end table over with a water basin on it. 

Water splashed and soon the comb ran through his inky black strands. It always felt pleasant, soothing to Banal, save when the comb hit a particularly bad knot. However, he was pretty sure most of the nerves in his scalp had died from years of brushing through matted and tangled hair that hadn’t been washed in weeks. The joys of war. 

“Have you ever cut your hair?” An’nas laughed watching his sister having to pull the section she was working on out just to reach the end. Seriously, you could use his hair to skip rope. 

“When I was young, I kept it short, about to my shoulder blades.” Banal shrugged. 

“Will you cut it again?” Vhena asked. She loved her father’s hair. She remembered always getting sad when he cut the sides down. Her fingers brushed the short underside of his hair. Samahlnan had helped him the other day cut it back down. 

“Possibly,” Banal mumbled as Vhena separated the white streak out. She giggled at the strange white in the sea of black. It was only the width of two of her fingers, yet it seemed to dominate the black. She laid it over Banal’s shoulder, out of the way. 

The twins chitchatted as Vhena plated and wove his hair. A braid along where his hair was shorn, the rest pulled back into a ponytail. More braids, small, of varying style and size hid amongst the loose strands. 

“‘Nas, can you grab that tiny box I set on the bed?” Vhena asked she finished off another braid. Banal frowned. Box? What box? He looked over the back of the loveseat towards the bed. An’nas, however, blocked his view. A strange song came up, tiny little fluttering whispers. Surprise, or shock and maybe confusion, Banal’s instincts told him. 

“Papae…” An’nas whispered, “what’s this?” He turned around with the little jewelry box he had in his chest, and in his free hand: a royal blue strip of fabric. Banal winced at the sight. Without waiting for an answer, An’nas looked at him warily, “It’s a bond, isn’t it?” 

“What?” Vhena blinked. She could sense magic on it, spells similar to An’nas’s bond, but different. Warmer, more powerful, and… “It’s not yours,” she mumbled. 

“No, it’s not,” Banal gave, turning back to look out the windows. “We never did give them back.” Not that they could’ve. After all, at the end of the first war, Banal was dead or dying at least. After that, well…he assumed Elgar’nan assumed he was dead, so no reason to give the bond back, right? Not that he thought the man was overly sentimental about someone he killed or anything. 

“You have a bondmate?” Vhena’s eyes widened. She had a bond parent…That thought alone was both exciting and frightening. “What is…or was their name?” 

Banal looked up at his children, pain and anger hidden in his eyes. “What does that matter now?” He growled. Very little as far as he cared. 

“You never told us about them before…is all…” Vhena sounded like a scolded child. Was it so wrong for her to want to know about them? She never knew her mother and her father never spoke of her, let alone his apparent mate. But perhaps, there was a reason why he never did. 

An’nas looked at his twin with sympathy. He had often wondered what their mother might have been like, yet never dared ask his father. He got some vague details from Sulahn’mi and Samahlnan who both knew her, but it wasn’t the same really. So he’d admit to a bit of curiosity when it came to his father’s mate. Who in their right mind would want to bond to his morose father? 

“She’s not asking a lot, you know,” He pointed out, looking at his father, “just a name.” 

Banal sighed. That was the problem. She could ask him anything else about him, and he would’ve gave it. They might have been vague answers, but they’d still be answers. But ask him his name and…well all his dirty laundry would be laid bare. 

Yet he heard Vhena’s normally quiet song crescendo into a twittering clash of despair. He felt coldness flicker through him, saw the purple begin to glint in the markings on his hands. He looked to the fireplace. “Elgar’nan.” His voice was but a whisper as though saying his name would conjure him from the very air. 

Vhena’s ears perked up. The twins looked at each other. Surely they did not hear him correctly… “What?” 

Banal gritted his teeth before biting out, “His name was Elgar’nan.” He glared up at them from the corner of his eyes. Old hurts brightened the greens, angers made the red flare. He dared them to speak, as all his walls and barriers came up out of reflex. 

“Y-you were m-mated to…” Vhena stuttered, the words petering away even as she spoke. 

“But you…you went to war against him,” An’nas furrowed his eyebrows. He tried to think of fighting against Tahon…and couldn’t. They could sense emotions, the other’s presence…They’d feel each other’s pain at the very least. How did his father even manage to declare war let alone go head-to-head with the wrathful god? 

“That I did,” Banal said evenly, “and I didn’t do it easily. I might not recall all the reasons, but I know I didn’t do it lightly.” 

“What could’ve warranted **war**?” An’nas’s voice raised. He wasn’t angry at his father per say, just shocked and confused. 

“I said I don’t remember why,” Banal growled back, “The memory is…there, but when I go to reach for it, it disappears and leaves me with a headache.” Another headache, he added in his head. See? This was why he didn’t want to tell them his name. 

Vhena played with the fur around her collar absently, watching the ground with a thoughtful look. “Bonds are supposed to bend, not break, why did—“ 

“Vhena,” Banal interrupted, gently. Whatever pain and anger he had over the whole thing cooled. For some reason both of the twins seemed upset by this new fact. “Life isn’t one of your fairy tales: not all of us get happy endings.” 

She looked up at him with a strange expression, one mixed with sadness and anger. “What was he like? How did you two end up together?” Her voice waivered a tad as though tears were coming. 

“Yeah, how could you fall in love with that asshole?” An’nas snorted. Banal cocked an eyebrow even as Vhena gave him a puzzled look. “I met him once. Tahon told me that he once cut out a man’s tongue for an insult. When I saw him…he just looked…dead. Like he was alive, but not emotionally…and he burnt a man’s face for bumping into him…” Banal winced. It seemed he was not the only one to have descended into madness after the war. He just wished he could recall how that descent happened. He remembered something breaking, but little else. 

“We…” He started, the words sticking in his throat. Vhena grabbed the box quietly, a very solemn look on her face. She took out the long earring Elgar’nan had made. She held it up, watching the light play on the sun. “We were _nas’falon_ , so we met very young. In a dream of course.” An’nas looked absolutely baffled. Vhena…strangely did not make any face. “Vhena, what is wrong?” 

She blinked at him, clearing her eyes. “Nothing.” She put the earring in his ear before grabbing some of the strands of beads and charms. She nimbly placed them in his ponytail. He felt a pulse of magic come from him as though something connected. Feathers appeared as they did in the Fade, springing from little wooden beads with old symbols lost to time. 

“You are a terrible liar, Vhena,” Banal looked over his shoulder at her. She played with the hem of her coat. 

“If you loved him, then why?” She mumbled. 

Banal sensed there was more bothering her than just his falling out with Elgar’nan. Still, it was something. “It wasn’t as simple as we loved each other. From the very start, everything was stacked against us. I’m just surprised we lasted as long as we did.” 

She glared. “But you were soul twins, one could not live without the other.” There were laws against things like that. No one was supposed to hinder _nas’falon_ from being together. If one was to be executed, the other would be as well. And they never warred with each other. “How did you even think of hurting him?” 

“I don’t remember.” 

She snorted, “You don’t remember a lot of things, Papae.” He narrowed his eyes at her snappish tone. “Like why you did this or why that happened…or who this person was.” An’nas fidgeted, feeling tension flooding through his bond with Vhena. So this is what it feels like to watch your sibling fight with your parent? He was kind of sorry for letting Vhena watch him and Banal have a go at each other. 

Then he noted how Banal didn’t say a word. That was what pissed him off when he was younger; it was like he wasn’t listening. He never yelled back. He would just stare at you, which would just make An’nas yell more. The only time Banal had ever yelled was when An’nas left. It was the one time he lost his head. 

However, looking in on an argument, An’nas noted that Banal was listening intently. He just didn’t try to defend nor diffuse, just let Vhena blow up. 

“What are you getting at Vhena?” Banal asked calmly. Grief, anger, and despair were rolling off Vhena like a flood had just burst. For some reason, he had the distinct feeling she had been bottling up this hell storm for centuries and was about to unleash it all. 

“Mother.” One word said it all. Banal ran his tongue over his teeth. There is was. The proverbial thorn in her side. The one thing she never let go of. She had asked him once about the woman who gave birth to the twins. An’nas was a century gone, and Banal was back and forth between Falon’Din’s temple and his own. She had a lot of time to think apparently. She asked a lot of questions about the woman, which Samahlnan and Sulahn’mi relayed back to him. 

When she finally worked up enough courage to ask him, he replied with “I don’t remember”. Aaaaannnd he meant that. He didn’t remember her, at least at the time he didn’t. He didn’t remember a lot of people back then. Even now, he struggled to come up with certain faces or names. 

“How could you not remember her? How can you not remember why you fought with Elgar’nan? How, Papae, how do you not remember?” She was shouting now. Banal watched her for a few moments. 

“I don’t know. I just don’t—“ 

“Of course you don’t,” her tone dripped in sarcasm, “because you couldn’t care less about anything like that. Because you just don’t care, right?” When Banal remained neutral, she growled and threw her hands up. She stormed passed him and down the stairs. Ice trickled up the walls. The door slammed shut. 

Banal let out a sigh, pinching his nose. “Why did I have to have a daughter?” He mumbled to the air. An’nas rolled his shoulders. 

“Why don’t you remember her?” An’nas asked quietly. Banal peeked at him from the corner of his eyes. He shifted on his feet, left hand clenched in a fist. His hands shook as he picked up the coat and held it out for his father to step into. 

“I don’t know, honestly.” And that was the problem, wasn’t it? 

***** 

The room was eerily quiet, almost like a tomb. A pin could’ve dropped and it wouldn’t have dared to make a sound as Erimond was lead to the throne. The air chilled despite the fires and bodies. 

Banal sat back in his throne, looking far more regal than anyone had the right to. Even with the wounds, he looked to be a king. 

The guards shoved the magister forward. Before Josephine could even start her speech about his crimes, Banal snarled, “I’m finding it hard to see how judging you makes up for anything you’ve done.” He seemed to be right on the edge of tearing the human’s face off and just frying his ass, Varric noted. The Inquisitor’s fingers drummed a harsh beat against the throne’s arms. Josephine cleared her throat with a sharp look at the elf, who only rolled his eyes. 

“We found him, alive, and offering extreme resistance, likely because the Order will ask for his head.” Even her gaze was icy as it fell on Erimond. “In more colorful terms…” 

“Oh I’ll bet Commander Tabris had a few colorful sayings she used,” Banal snorted. 

“I recognize none of this proceeding,” Erimond scoffed, still with his haughty air despite the chains. “You’ve no authority to judge me.” 

“On the contrary,” Josephine interrupted, “many officials have communicated that they will defer to the Inquisitor on this matter.” 

“Because they fear, not just Corypheus, but Tevinter, rightful ruler of every piece of ground you trod on in your pathetic lives! I serve a living god--” The air suddenly chilled, stopping his tirade. A gust of not-wind shot out from the throne. It blew out every fire, slammed the Great Doors closed with an ominous thud. The only light came from the windows behind the Inquisitor. 

Elven eyes glowed like a cat’s, his body a shadow against the light. Then came the molten red color, pulsating like lava through the markings Slowly, he rose from his chair. Everyone’s breathing stilled. They hadn’t seen that kind of unmasked rage in eons. Only this time it brought ice, not fire. Varric and Solas were surprised there was no shadow in his eyes, no horns or wings. 

Banal kept his eyes on Erimond as he stepped forward. His magic swirled in the air. It hardened over the human. First Erimond just furrowed his eyebrows, but as Banal took another step, the air seemed to become solid. His legs quivered, trying to hold him upright. 

As the Inquisitor descended the first step, the magister’s legs gave out from the pressure. Blue and orange flames sprang to life in the torches. 

“Banal…” Lotus grumbled, glaring at the man. The Elvhen were strangely unaffected by the thick atmosphere. Yet all the mortals’ hearts beat a thousand times a minute. 

Banal came to a stop directly in front of Erimond. His eyes glared down his nose at the human. “Care to repeat that, _shemlen_ for I couldn’t have possibly heard you right.” His voice chilled everyone’s very soul. It was quiet, but it may have been a thunderclap in that room. “For it seems to me, you said Tevinter was the rightful ruler of Thedas; Tevinter, the empire that sprang to life some **thousands** of years **after** the Elvhenan.” 

The magister could do little save raise his head to glare back. Banal bent down to his eye level, grabbing the human’s jaw. 

“Seems to me you need to be educated in history,” Banal growled. “I ruled in this land before humans had figured out how to make boats. Before me, there were hundreds of rulers; before that, thousands of tribes. We ruled the land and the sky just as the _durgen’len_ ruled the mountains and the land below our feet. We owned Thedas long before humans ever were here.” His hand gripped harder with every syllable until Erimond was sure his jaw would break. 

Then Banal tossed his head away, standing back up. Disdain was clear in his eyes. He turned around, mounting the step back up to his throne. With each step, the heavy air lifted, the fires returned to normal. Erimond tested his jaw as he struggled to stand back up. 

The magister snorted as though unimpressed, “And look where you are now: slaves.” 

Banal cocked an eyebrow, “I serve none but myself, magister. I never had and I never will.” 

“And your people? Squatting in forests or rotting in slums like pigs for slaughter.” 

This time Banal snorted, “What you say is true. The Elvhen have fallen far, but it is only because we had fallen to ourselves that humans were ever anything more than cattle not even fit to be a slave.” 

Everyone’s eyes widened at his words. He said those words so nonchalantly they had almost missed them. Here was their Inquisitor admitting to being thousands of years old and that nearly everything in history was false. 

“Is that what I shall be to you then? A slave? Or will you free me from the physical?” Erimond, however, seemed unfazed. 

Banal thought a moment. It seemed the human would love to have an execution. Probably had something to do with him thinking he’d receive some boon in death from his false god. Also it would turn the magister into a martyr of the Venatori. 

“If death is a validation, I will deny you it. Find the deepest, darkest hole, and throw him in it. Lose the key.” 

Erimond sneered. “Very well, Inquisitor, we shall see who outlives our legacy.” At that the Inquisitor began laugh. Oh he did not just say that? Even the other Elvhen chuckled under their breaths. 

Banal covered his mouth as he fought to cease laughing. Even once it stopped, he had a smile upon his face. “My dear _shemlen_ , allow me to impart wisdom upon you. I have seen facts become legends, legends become myths, and myths become truths. These are what make history, and history is what the victors write. 

“A thousand years from now you will be dust, but I will remain.” His voice was matter of factly, no room for argument. 

Unless you were Erimond of course. “You are so certain you will win when you don’t even know what you are up against?” He mocked. 

Banal’s face didn’t even change. “Oh I know what I’m up against; I’ve been on the opposite end a time or two. And I always lost. It is Corypheus who has yet to realize just what he’s against.” With a dismissive hand gesture, the guards grabbed Erimond and began to pull him away. “Farewell, magister, I look forward to watching you rot over the next few centuries.” 

***** 

It took some time for the commotion to die down enough for Banal to wade through the various visitors to Varric. By the time he had gotten to him, his patience was fraying. He was stopped half a dozen times by this duke or that merchant, asking inane questions. One was a scholar who all but demanded he know what those remarks to Erimond meant. Banal responded in a rather restrained way, reminding him that he was fighting a war and that no one got to demand anything other than survival from him. 

Banal suppressed a growl as he finally reached the dwarf. In his quickly deteriorating mood, he failed to even notice the other dwarf standing next to Varric. “Alright, Varric, I’m told you have something you wish to share with me?” 

Varric chuckled at the Inquisitor’s tired look. Some things never changed. “I think I know where some of Corypheus’s red lyrium is coming from.” 

Banal’s eyebrows went up, “Well that’s usef—who’s this?” Banal blinked as though the dwarven woman just appeared out of nowhere. She smirked, looking up at him from under her hood. 

“Bianca Davri, at your service. You must be the Inquisitor.” She greeted. Banal’s ears twitched. Her song was…fearful, nervous, guilty; a staccato of out of tune pipes. One corner of his mouth pulled down as his eyes bore into her. Green, orange, and purple all flickered through his markings, but with the firelight, no one could be sure of anything. Varric shifted on his feet as Banal just narrowed his eyes at Bianca. 

His magic wanted to reach out and figure out what was causing all this discord in her. What gnawed at her insides? His ears flicked back, trying to decipher the notes. Alas, those memories were fuzzy, as were the ones with how he controlled his magic. 

“Charmed,” Banal finally bit out. He turned back to Varric, annoyance written all over his face. Varric knew Smiley just didn’t like visitors and judging from the quivering tips of his ears, something else was agitating him. Best to keep this short then. 

Varric nudged Bianca who had a very unsettled feeling around the Inquisitor. The air he brought was heavy, laden with…something. Magic maybe, like being stuck in a room filled with lyrium…the red kind. 

Banal cocked his head to the side, catching flashes of a room with red lyrium. Strange apparatuses were scattered around, a piece of the rock suspended by tongs on a table. His eyes narrowed. 

“Bianca found a smuggling operation out in the Hinterlands,” Varric started, snapping them both out of their heads. Bianca quickly recovered, focusing back on her task. 

“Strange humans are carting the red stuff out in unprotected containers. Figured you might want to know about it.” She acted confident, cocky even, but the guilt rang even louder through her song. 

Banal snorted, not trusting her as far as he could throw a dragon. Then again, by knocking out another red lyrium source, Banal would weaken Corypheus that much more. Were this a game of chess, he would corner his opponent. Cut off reinforcements, supplies, and an army would crumble far quicker. Rather like starving a tree to weaken the roots. 

“Well, I do rather like upsetting Corypheus…” Banal gave, “Tell me everything you know.” Banal listened quietly as Varric and Bianca explained. He watched Bianca carefully, listening to her song as well as her words. At times pride would flare, mixing with fear. He had a twitchy feeling she was the leak of this thaig, but he hid his thoughts well, not letting any sign he was upset show save his ears twitching back if the song got too high pitched. 

When they had finished, Banal looked to the side in thought. They needed to start hampering the enemy’s access to lyrium. Cullen was looking at ways to assault the quarry in the Lion, but that would take time. There was an opportunity right in front of him… 

However, Banal knew better than to think he’d be able to go. Lotus was adamant about no adventuring for a couple of weeks. Plus, Banal could still feel the…shadow demon whatever you wanted to call it. It lurked just below his skin. The more his magic recovered, the stronger it felt. At times, his skin crawled because of it. He doubted he could tolerate being around red lyrium **and** darkspawn. He also really didn’t want to test the theory either. 

“We need to stop this operation quickly,” Banal started, returning his gaze to Varric. “However, I’m fairly certain Lotus will blow-dart my ass if I so much as step onto the bridge, so…” He paused, thinking of who best to send with them, “take Rithara.” 

Varric’s eyes went wide, “Crystals?” No one had ever seen the blind elf fight before. They didn’t even know if she could. She wasn’t one of the ones who defended the throne room back when they went to the creepy Temple. The most they knew was she could get around Skyhold perfectly fine. She hardly ever bumped into anything or tripped or got lost. It was rather eerie actually. 

But a cave filled with who knows what was a far cry from a fortress filled with allies. 

Banal chuckled at the dwarf’s worry, not even needing to read his heart for it was written in his face. “Rith has more Stone sense than the two of you combined,” He shrugged. “She was raised by dwarves since she was still small, so she’ll be fine. In fact it’ll do her a world of good to get out of _Tarasyl’an_ , and Nenara will always accompany her.” Their eyes went towards the Undercroft where the crystalline elf always stayed. 

“But I’ve never seen her fight,” Varric muttered. 

Banal shook his head, the beads in his hair clacking, feathers sputtering like dying flames. “She isn’t a battlemage, Varric. The spell she uses to ‘see’,” he air quoted the word, “prevents her from offensive spells. She can fight, but it becomes very chaotic and she’s prone to friendly fire, so she’ll be more of your support mage. Nenara will take my place of torching things.” 

Varric looked wary still, but he finally nodded. Who knows, maybe the two would make good company? He rubbed the back of his neck. Right, everything was going to be fine… 

“I’ll meet you there, but try not to make me wait too long, Varric. I’ve got my own things to do,” Bianca teased/threatened as she slipped passed Banal and out the door. 

“Right, well, that went well…” Varric muttered. “Something bugging you, Smiley?” He asked because Banal’s eyes followed Bianca out, and he did not seem happy about letting her leave. 

“I expect a very detailed report when you get back, Varric. I don’t like this,” Banal said blatantly as he turned back to the author. Well, that’s a good sign, Varric thought sarcastically. The guy who had some weird spirit sense had a bad feeling. That’s just great. 

“I don’t like this much either, Smiley…but I’ll go grab Crystals and Bandana and head down there. With luck we’ll reach the bottom of the mountain before the sunsets.” Banal nodded, turned on his heel and walked out of the Grand Hall, eager for fresh air. 

He trotted down the stairs, ponytail swishing around his knees. He scanned the courtyard for the Seeker, mentally ticking her off the list. He spotted her smashing a sword against an ironclad dummy. She had broken the other ones. He walked around the training circle to her. 

“Alright, Cassandra, your turn,” He called out to get her attention. “What’s this I hear about you finding the Seekers?” 

Cassandra straightened out of her battle stance, wiping her brow. She turned to him. “Thanks to Leliana and Josephine’s help, I believe we’ve found where Seekers might be held: Caer Oswin.” Banal nodded. “I cannot say finding them will benefit us in any way, but if we could…” She paused, looking over the scars on the Inquisitor’s face. 

“I don’t think we should wait,” Banal cut in. She blinked, not expecting him to care when there was nothing to gain. Banal smirked as he heard her surprise. “Do not think I care, Seeker, I only want your head sound. If finding these Seekers helps with that, I will do what I must.” She snorted, but her song didn’t darken. She was far too used to Banal’s strange way of helping for his own gain. 

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” She bowed her head a tad. 

“Take Sulahn’mi and Arvaan with you when you go, maybe Bull as well.” 

“W-what?” She stuttered, not expecting him to send his followers with her. 

He sighed, “This seems to be a time sensitive issue, correct?” He waited for her to reluctantly nod. “Thus we do not have the luxury of sitting around waiting for me to heal and I recall what one lowly Templar did to me,” his eyes narrowed at her, his tone bitter still, “and I was stronger then than I am now. I do not want to imagine what a Seeker could do to me in this state, and I will not put my mages in that kind of line of fire. So you will take Sula and Vaan.” 

Cassandra thought on that for a moment. She recalled Banal’s purging vividly. His sclera turned black, a strange shadow came from the Anchor and a terrible magic surrounded him even as the purging continued. She did not wish for a repeat. 

While she couldn’t say for certain that what she saw wasn’t a demon defending itself (if that were the case, it had been in him a very long time and had grown quite powerful), she did not think Banal out of control. He certainly had room for improvement in his moral department, but was he demonic? An abomination? She did not think so. That he cared for his mages showed some level of empathy as well. 

“Very well, Inquisitor,” She nodded slowly. “I will inform Sulahn’mi and Arvaan. We will leave shortly.” 

Banal nodded as well. “Good, do let me know what you find. I am rather curious as to what happened to the Lord Seeker.” 

***** 

Banal sighed for the hundredth time. He watched from the battlements as Vhena practiced smacking a large stick against a dummy. After he attended all his Inquisitor duties, he found himself walking along the walls as though being pulled. There he found a still very angry Vhena hacking away in frustration down in the training yard. That was thirty minutes ago. 

He watched her form, noting her errors, but keeping his mouth shut against the corrections he wanted to shout at her. She always favored her left, leaving her right unguarded despite her right being far stronger than the other. Anger and despair were a muted whirlwind around her. He noted some wet spots in the dirt where she had no doubt froze the ground. 

So, he waited up from his vantage point. She needed space, he thought, to get her thoughts all in a line. Yet his instincts were trying to push him down there. Like he could fix it something…other than her terrible form. Banal frowned. Was she trying to do everything badly? 

“She’s angry, she doesn’t care if it’s right,” Cole’s voice hardly even startled Banal. His neck hairs had stood up, a strange calm quiet settled over him long before the spirit had appeared. 

“Well she should, that is just atrocious,” Banal snorted. He ran his tongue over his teeth, tapping his nails against the stones, as his instincts started to rear up. What was he supposed to say? ‘Sorry I can’t remember your mother because I literally didn’t care about her until she died and left me with you two’? Yeah that’s comforting. 

“You don’t mean to hurt her,” Cole started as he watched the Inquisitor lean against the edge. The shadow was agitated, too many snakes trying to be seen, still too thick to tread through. Flashes of white flickered through the black, but it hurt to see like seeing light after years of darkness. The Inquisitor was separated, two halves trying to become a whole. 

Banal sighed, turning to Cole. “No, I don’t mean to, but I do. What’s more is I can’t fix it.” 

“Yes you can.” 

“No, I can’t. I can’t make memories that don’t exist, Cole.” Banal glared unhappily at the spirit. “I can’t even tell you her mother’s name, let alone anything about her.” Banal’s voice softened as he looked back down at his daughter. “Perhaps I just really didn’t care.” 

“Am I monster?” Cole echoed his thoughts easily, “Hands claw up my throat, drag me down. Pain is nothing, fuel to a fire. All I see is black, then white, then nothing. Shadows grip me and I am nothing…” He cocked his head to the side. He got flashes of another white-haired woman with dawn colored eyes and a man with rose colored eyes. But again, the white snake slithered away into the writhing mess of black. 

“The black doesn’t see people as people. Pawns to be played, useful until useless. Why did you let her stay?” Cole continued, clinging to that one hurt. Banal blinked. 

“Why did I let who stay?” 

Cole looked down at Vhena, “Her mother. She doesn’t hate you, or thinks you’re a monster. She just is curious, frustrated, finding fragments of an image, but it’s not enough. She wants, wonders why am I this way? What makes me different? White? Is that so wrong?” He looked back at Banal. 

Banal sighed, “No, that’s not what’s wrong. I’m wrong. I can’t remember, I just get flashes of blonde hair.” He frowned. 

“It’s your head still; there’s just more snakes now. They tangle and twist, hiding.” Cole’s eyes dazed as Banal looked at him. “I can help you find the one you want…” 

Banal narrowed his eyes skeptically. The last time the spirit had been in his head, he got a headache for a week. “And how would you do that?” 

Cole scratched the side of his nose, blue eyes not blinking once. “I grab the snake and show you it. You do remember her, just you remember her differently than you want to.” 

Again, the spirit talked in riddles and circles. He sighed, pinching his nose. He had very little choice. “Sure, if it’ll speed up this whole getting my daughter less angry so she doesn’t end up breaking her arms from how terribly she’s hitting that dummy.” He frowned down at her again, shaking his head slightly. 

A little tap on his barriers snapped his attention back to the spirit. Cole’s eyes were a thousand years away as Banal let him into his mind. 

Cole blinked and he was inside the shifting grey space he often saw as Banal’s psyche. The only difference was that the barrier was gone and a subtle fiery hue emanated from the ground, though he could hardly see it. 

The floor moved and writhed, nothing but black snake upon black snake. Underneath it all, he knew was the fat white one that could encircle this mess at least once if it wanted to. It didn’t; it wanted to hide. No barrier was there to hold it, hide away the hurt. 

The spirit shook his head. He wasn’t there for it. The last time he had touched it, it had hurt, not helped. He walked forward. The snakes slithered away from him, mist wrapping around his ankles. His eyes searched, little images glinting in the snakes’ scales. 

Blonde hair caught his attention. He shadow stepped to it. His hand darted out, grabbing it before it could hide. The contact let the hurt melt away, leaving only the memory to settle. Cole got flashes of the woman. Her smile, her laugh, things Banal had found odd to hear around him. 

The spirit blinked as he receded from Banal’s mind. The elf rubbed his temples as the memories shifted. “I really hope it doesn’t always hurt like this.” 

“It might for awhile.” Cole then blinked out of existence, leaving the Inquisitor alone to deal with his daughter. Banal was pretty sure Cole had more he wanted to help with, given the amount of riddles he had spoken, but the spirit obviously figured out how to do one thing at a time. 

Banal took a deep breath before heading for the stairs. His head felt like pressure had been released finally. Bonus: he could recall Semaya, though Cole was right, he didn’t like how he recalled her. The person he was before only saw how useful she could be, and when she displayed interest in a more physical relationship, he only saw her through a lust filled lens. 

So he was going to have to get creative and pray Vhena didn’t hope for some fairy tale romance… 

He walked silently from behind her as she beat the straw out of the dummy. Sweat covered her, making her loose cotton shirt cling to her. Her coat was discarded in the dirt. “How many times have I told you never to practice fighting without someone to watch you?” Banal called out. Vhena’s back went rigid. She didn’t look back at him, but he saw her shoulder muscles tense. 

“I’m not practicing fighting, I’m just hitting something,” She growled. 

“And ingraining bad habits into your muscle memory,” Banal countered, crossing his arms. He looked over her stance once, “Your feet are too close; an opponent could easily trip you.” He heard her grumble something under breath. He ignored it. Instead he carefully approached her. 

Vhena was too busy grumbling about how he was a perfectionist and how she didn’t have to listen to him and blah blah blah for her to notice what he was planning to do. With a little fancy footwork, he swept her legs out from under her. She made a surprised squeal, stick flying from her hand. Banal caught it and as soon as her back hit the ground, the end was an inch above her throat. 

“An injured old man just disarmed you in a matter of seconds,” Banal stated with a sort of smug tone. Vhena glared. “And I got you prone, so you would’ve been as good as dead.” He took the stick away from her and let her angrily get to her feet. Her movements were harsh, choppy. “There is power in anger, but only if you know how to harness it.” 

Vhena just glared at him for a few seconds before holding her hand out for her stick. Banal debated giving it back to her. When he didn’t relinquish it at once, Vhena tried to snatch it back. However, Banal’s grip was far stronger than she thought. She tugged at it. “Let go,” she hissed. 

Banal pretended to think, “No, I don’t think so.” 

“Let. Go.” 

Banal’s eyes narrowed, warning her she was dangerously close to the amount of backtalk he’d tolerate. “Vhena, you haven’t even mastered fighting with a clear head, so what makes you think you should try learning to fight when you are pissed off?” 

“I’m not trying to learn anything!” She yelled back. “Just give me the fucking stick!” Banal gave the stick one hard yank, pulling it from her grip. He worked hard to control the frustration and anger that was starting to bubble up. It was like puberty all over again with her. 

“No.” The one word was flat, chilled. Vhena stepped back, knowing that tone well. It was one that said he was angry. Her eyes dropped to the ground, anger melting away into something else: fear. She had always been afraid of her father’s rage, though he had never done anything too harsh to her. It was just instinctual. 

Banal took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. A mist cloud formed as he blew it out his mouth. This wasn’t going how it was supposed to…He flexed his jaw. “Go get cleaned up and cooled off. I’ll bring you some breakfast.” He muttered. 

Vhena looked like she wanted to argue, but she looked up at his deceptively neutral look and figured it would be better to do as she was told. Besides, her stomach hurt since she had skipped breakfast in favor of smacking the training dummy around. She stalked away towards her room, leaving Banal alone to let out a sigh. 

He mumbled a prayer to anything that would listen to give him patience to withstand the long and awkward conversation ahead of him. 

***** 

An hour later, he knocked on her door, a servant carrying the tray for him. He had the cooks, who were preparing for lunch, just fix her something small and light since he was pretty sure she had a stomach ache. Rule number five: never train on an empty stomach. 

But it had given him time to reign his temperament back in, and hopefully, her time to take a bath. A grumbled ‘it’s open’ came from the other side. Banal rolled his eyes before opening the door. He let the servant in first so she could set the tray down and scamper off. 

Vhena sat on her bed, stabbing a needle through some fabric. Well, at least she wasn’t stabbing people, he thought. If she wanted to angrily sew, she could angrily sew. He wasn’t positive it would turn out right, but hey whatever worked. 

He shut the door quietly behind the servant before wandering over to the window. He didn’t need to hear her song to know she was upset. It was in her posture, in her silence. She was only silent when she was angry. 

He fiddled around with ideas on how to start this as he watched her reflection in the window. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. The basics should be a nice starting point… 

“Semaya Arlavaani,” He stated suddenly, “though most of the others just called her Mountain Maya.” Vhena’s hand hesitated, but then continued its angry rampage. He bit back a sigh. “She was from the northern mountains, see, so she was taller, sturdier than most of the others. Pale blonde hair that she liked to keep up and out of her face with this strange bone comb thing. Her eyes were this strange gray with flecks of brown like…muddy rocks.” 

He paused again as Vhena’s hands lowered to her lap, ceasing their activities. She was watching him from the corner of her eyes, unsure if he was just making this up. So he pressed on, a bit of pain zipping behind his eye as he messed with memories that seemed to be from someone else. 

“Huros was the one who found her. She was wearing this thick, heavy fur coat, dying of heat and thirst. She had been exiled from her village for slighting a nobleman’s son. I think she punched him or bit him or something. 

“She had wandered south into the desert, right into a sandstorm too. So she was utterly lost and tripped one of our alarms unknowingly. I sent Huros and Liaya to investigate. They come back dragging this woman who was delirious from the sun, shouting strange things and making rude hand gestures.” He shook his head at the memory. Maya was always a touch batty and a mite rambunctious. “For some strange reason, after she healed, she didn’t want to leave.” 

Vhena turned her head towards him finally. She wore a troubled expression on her face. Her mother sounded…fun. A sharp pain shot through her heart. Banal smiled softly at her reflection. 

“She wanted a child, that was her one dream in life I suppose, but she was infertile. She could get pregnant, but not stay pregnant with a normal man’s child.” 

“Did she ask you?” Vhena asked very quietly. Banal snorted before chuckling. 

“She flirted with me, and I won’t lie, I was only interested in sex. You two were quite unplanned, just a momentarily lapse in control over my magic and boom I have two children,” He joked. Vhena, however, only frowned, eyebrows knitting together. 

“Magic?” She mumbled, “And why could she keep us, but not any of the others?” 

Banal sighed, turning around to face her. “Vhena, you do realize I’m…technically sterile, yes? So is your brother, and…” He trailed off with a pained expression as her eyes went wide. “It’s…a complicated mess that I’m still trying to remember entirely, so that story will have to wait,” he headed off her questions. Strangely, she wrapped her arms around her stomach as he spoke. 

He winced. That’s probably not something she wanted to hear. While being sterile was great if you wanted to play around, if you wanted a family it was more of a curse. So he quickly answered her other question. “Normal means of…procreation don’t work, but there are ways around it…obviously.” He motioned towards her and the very fact that there was a her. 

She blinked, “Last time I checked biology, Papae, there was only one way to make a child.” 

He rolled his eyes. “We are far from normal, _ma da’vhenan_. Beyond that…well it works for other Elvhen too. The soul, the essence that makes you you is essentially magic, yes?” 

She watched him like it was a trick question, “Yeeeeessss?” 

“Magic can be manipulated, yes?” 

She nodded, unsure of where this was going. 

“There’s a way to take your essence, that magic and fuse it with the opposite sex to create a child. It is basically substituting magic, which still passes on the genes since we are magic, for sperm…or well in your case an egg.” 

She blinked. She could see the logic. Sort of. She was taught that all that makes her was nothing more than magic, or at least the essence of magic. All things were created from the Void, blah blah, life magic kept her heart beating and her body functional, blah blah. So she supposed if magic was how the body functioned, it would make sense that one could use magic to bypass normal limitations…like how Rithara was able to see without her eyes. 

“And it works for people who are weird like us?” She asked, curious on how he knew that. His eyes flickered down for a moment. 

“Well, I don’t think it would work for humans or modern day elves, but for Elvhen yes. Theoretically, two women might be able to use the technique. Two men…not so much.” He shrugged. “But if they wished for a child, one that was their blood, but didn’t wish to sleep with a woman, there is where the technique could be applied.” Her eyes narrowed. That was oddly specific. She knew her father had no aversion to sleeping with women, so he wasn’t talking about himself. 

“How do you know it works for them? Did you try it?” She probed. Banal scratched the side of his nose, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. 

“Yes.” He whispered. 

“For who? Why?” Now he knew she was feeling better. She was far too nosy. 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why do you care?” 

She held her hands up innocently. “I just want to know how you know it works for other people.” 

He huffed. He supposed there wasn’t harm in telling her. After all, the political trappings of Arlathan were long dead and buried. He walked over to her bed and sat down on the side. “It was for Elgar’nan.” 

Vhena blinked. She did not expect that answer. “He was your bondmate, yeah, but he was also married to Mythal wasn’t he?” 

“He only married her to keep his throne away from his sister. He did not love her in any way save platonically. And of course he couldn’t marry me and keep his throne, but he couldn’t exactly conceive a child either because one he wasn’t attracted to women and two Mythal wasn’t about to force him to do something like that just for appearance’s sake.” Vhena leaned forward, enthralled by this. Banal frowned at her. 

“I did not know that about the Sun,” She giggled. 

“Not many people did. Mythal, Solas, Mien, his parents, and myself were the only ones who did. There were rumors of course, but those are hardly credible.” 

Vhena thought a moment, “So Dirthamen is his son, right?” Banal nodded once. 

“I…knew how my line conceived, and I looked into adapting it for other people, for him. What I found was promising and nine months later, we got Dirthamen…the little brat.” Banal grumbled the last part. Vhena laughed. 

“You didn’t like your bondson?” There was a small pain in knowing she had a bondfather she would never meet, just as she had a mother she would never know. She somehow felt cheated. Yet, she did like talking to her father like this, even if it reminded her of unpleasant things. 

Banal snorted, “he was fine as baby, but then he got older. He was raised with people thinking he was a god, think how that might affect one’s personality.” 

“You could’ve set him straight.” 

“No,” Banal stated simply, “the war began when Dirthamen was three. I doubt he even remembered having a bondfather.” He shrugged as though it didn’t bother him. They were silent for a moment. 

“Was it hard having to fight Elgar’nan?” Vhena whispered. 

“You and An’nas can feel each other’s emotions, the other’s presence at any given time. Try to think of what it would be like to strengthen that connection with something as powerful as the bonding.” 

She struggled to comprehend that. She only knew vague details of the bonding. Blood was used, and it literally tied the pair together. But for _nas’falon_ , that sort of bond was already present so it would just super charge it… 

“We could send each other thoughts,” Banal started without waiting for her answer. His eyes unfocused like he was seeing back thousands of years. “We could locate each other any place in the whole empire, communicate over vast distances. Feel each other with such vividness that we might think we were just stabbed. Throwing magic at each other was useless; he could not control my blood, and he was resistant to my Void magic, so we had to fight physically… 

“After a little while, you learn how to block or dampen the connection so you aren’t seeing stars every time you punch your opponent…yet despite all this, it wasn’t hard fighting him. What was hard was severing the bond; that was the most painful thing I’ve ever had to endure.” He blinked away from the memories, a strange feeling in his chest. There was a small warmth, just a tiny ember where once there was an entire sun. 

Vhena sat there quietly, watching as the white crept closer to the end. 

*****

The next day while Vhena combed his hair all over to the side and weaving the beads into a few tiny braids, she asked if he could resume training her with the great axe. He knew it was because he had yelled at her the day before about poor form. But he still told her to go change into her chainmail. 

While she had yet to get to the point where Banal was comfortable in letting someone swing at her, he still had her practice in battle mail. No plates or her leather corset, just chainmail, but it added enough weight to help condition her for battle. 

So the training grounds were where they found themselves after Banal had seen to the few diplomats who arrived the night before. Soralan, despite losing an arm, volunteered to be the dummy for Vhena. He stood with his shield ready as Vhena began going through the motions. 

Unfortunately for her, Soralan being her partner meant she had two old men pointing out her mistakes…at the same time. It was rather eerie how they would both say “footwork” or “arms” at the same time, at the very moment she misplaced her foot or dropped an arm. They found it funny. She found it annoying. 

Still she worked to get at least one praise that day. Someday she actually wanted to be a help rather than a hindrance. However, after the hundredth “footwork”, she had just about had it. She gritted her teeth as she looked down at her feet. 

“What exactly am I doing wrong?” She growled. Sweat coated her body, making the few strands that fell from her bun stick to her face and neck. Her muscles hadn’t worked this hard in centuries and she felt the burn and strain of their protests. Banal tilted his head back to examine her. 

“Too close. Uncomfortable position to be in when you need to shift weight, and your body is overcompensating for swinging all the weight around,” Banal muttered. “Feet even with your shoulders,” he paused as she shifted her feet, “your hand should be even with the tip of the head, not at the head…” Vhena growled as he continued to list and correct her stance. 

Soralan came closer. He kicked her feet to move them out. He nudged at her leading hand with the edge of his shield getting it to where it should be. He mimicked how she should hold it, though missing his sword arm she only got half the demonstration. “Remember not to hold the shaft so tightly; part of the beauty of great axes is using all that weight to your advantage.” He walked back to his position, holding his shield at the ready. 

“Try to hook his shield,” Banal commanded. He watched her feet, noting any mistakes and was happy to see few. She was still holding the weapon too close, negating the axe’s longer reach. “An axe is meant to hack and slash, Vhena; it isn’t a rapier,” he corrected. He watched for a few more moments as she swung. “Let your hand move.” 

“If I do that, it’ll fly out of my hand,” Vhena hissed back. Banal rolled his eyes. “And I’ll get thrown off balance.” 

“I didn’t say let go, I said let your hand move. You are too stiff and are overexerting…” Then he waited a few more moments, “and you are pulling your hits.” Vhena snorted to show she heard. “You fight how you train, if you pull your punches now—“ 

“You pull your punches all the time,” Vhena noted. Her voice began to show her frustration. She felt her skin prickle with magic as she fought to not get angry. How the hell was she supposed to know what to do if he never showed her? Did her father even know how to wield a great axe? 

Banal chuckled darkly, “That’s because I’m trying not to kill my sparring partner. You could barely hurt a fly with how lightly you are tapping him.” 

Soralan smirked, “Oh she’s just taking it easy on the old man, right, princess?” He winked at her. “I’m not going to fall apart, sweets; I practiced with your father many times and he may pull his punches, but they still feel like a stampede of halla.” 

Vhena huffed, a puff of cold air coming out her nose. “I’m not going to hit him with everything I have.” She didn’t even know what was everything she had. She had never tried to find out just how hard she could hit. Even against the dummies, she made sure not to break them. 

“Then what’s the point of training?” Banal scoffed. 

She stopped, letting the head of the axe drag into the dirt. She turned towards her father. By now a lot of people were watching, not going passed the line Banal had drawn in the dirt which he called the “safe” zone. He never guaranteed magic wouldn’t fly in these training sessions which was why Sulahn’mi stood on the safe line, her strange not-magic humming going to block rogue spells. 

“Learning?” Vhena snarled. Banal cocked an eyebrow. “Not everyone takes pleasure from knocking people around.” 

“If you ever plan to fight, then you’re going to have to use everything you got at some point.” 

“That’s kind of hard when every few seconds you are saying ‘footwork’,” she tried and failed to imitate her father’s much deeper voice. 

Banal watched as she took her stance again. Anger was boiling around her, which was the point. He had to poke and prod her to see just how much she could take…and how hard she could hit when mad. If one could stay focused and controlled even while under stress such as a nagging father? One was set. Of course, Vhena didn’t realize he was doing this on purpose. 

“Footwork,” Banal called out with amusement. His mirth at her frustration seemed to be the breaking point. He heard the loud roar of her anger just behind his ears. The air chilled suddenly. Her hands clenched around her weapon, knuckles going white. For a split second, her sclera turned black. 

She raised her axe over her head. The air filled with magic. Too much magic, Banal thought. Instinctively, his magic flashed out just as the axe was coming down. Shit, he hissed to himself as far too much magic went into a shield. He still couldn’t control the flow of his magic, no matter how many times he tried. He reached out and pulled some back just as Vhena’s axe slammed against the ground. 

Ice rocketed towards Soralan. Frozen spikes ripped open the ground. Within a blink of an eye, her magic slammed into Banal’s barrier. It splattered against the shimmering black force field, freezing like a splayed hand. Everyone’s eyes grew large at the amount of force that one tantrum had. Banal, however, tried not to vomit as his world spun from his magic slamming back into him. 

His chest tightened, pain ricocheting through his ribs. He pressed hand against his heart that thundered on. So trying to quickly pull his magic back inside was a bad idea. His face lost several shades of color. 

Vhena dropped her axe and brought her hands up to her mouth in shock. She didn’t mean to let her magic get out of control. Her breathing stilled as she waited to see if Soralan was okay. Please, let him be okay. She didn’t want to think about what happened if she injured, maimed or even killed her make-shift uncle. 

The ice crumbled away, shattering into tiny flakes or melting before it hit the ground. Soralan was on his ass, staring wide-eyed at the black barrier…where an ice spike had slammed against it. It was right at his chest’s height. 

Vhena’s eyes watered as she ran over to him. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry,” she babbled over and over. She finally looked over at her father just as he straightened as best he could. He was trying not to breathe deeply, his body starting to shake. 

“Very good, Vhena,” Banal managed, his voice only shaking at the beginning. He cleared his throat, pushing down any pain he felt. “Now if you could manage that level of power without being in a blind rage, we’d get somewhere.” He smirked though she could tell he only did it to mask pain. 

She looked back at Soralan, who was still stunned. “I almost killed him.” 

Banal shook his head, “I would not let you kill him, _da’vhenan_ ”; I still have a use for him.” Vhena glared lightly at his comment. “Had he been a bandit, however, I’d expect you to kill him, you know that yes?” 

Vhena bit her lip and nodded solemnly. “It’s just…very different when it’s a friend.” 

Banal nodded in understanding. “Go wash up, I think we are done for the day,” he turned to head up the stairs that led to the kitchen. He gritted his teeth against the pain that shot through him with every step. “Tomorrow you’ll get the hit Bull.” 

As he disappeared into the castle, he heard the Qunari’s faltering attempts of saying ‘no’. Sadly, the Inquisitor didn’t seem to care. 

Banal walked briskly through the kitchen and out to the area that he honestly had no idea what to do with. Vhena and An’nas had taken to drawing and painting on the walls down here, of course, but there was nothing in the empty room save for his current destination: the tiny library he had deemed his ‘leave me alone’ room. 

He shoved open the door and slammed it shut. His back slid down the frame. His breaths started to become frantic as pain shot through his veins. He breathed through his teeth, trying not to make any noise. 

A knock sounded around the room. Banal froze as though the person didn’t know if someone was in there or not. 

“I know this is your ‘leave me the fuck alone’ room, but I swear if you don’t open this door, I’m blowing it up,” Lotus’s voice cut through the wood. Banal growled under his breath. Of course, the healer would know he was hurt. 

Banal looked up at the handle, not wanting to stand up, but having little choice. “You blow up my library and I’m skinning you alive and throwing you to a bear,” he growled back. He reached up and gripped one of the bookshelves to his left. His chest screamed as he pulled himself up and turned to the door. 

Lotus opened it as soon as the weight was gone. He quietly slipped in and shut it again eyes not leaving the Inquisitor who was bent over like an old man out of breath. The healer managed to get him to the chair behind the desk. 

“I’m fine,” Banal kept insisting. 

“Says the wheezing old man.” Banal’s hand smacked against his shoulder hard. Lotus winced seeing that the dark elf was not in the mood for teasing. “Aye, aye do your job and get out.” Lotus grumbled to himself as he opened Banal’s shirt. 

He stepped back and blinked stupidly at the sight. 

Black bruising covered his entire chest, the darkest and thickest part directly over his heart. Purple veins ran throughout like spider webs. Areas looked to still be bleeding given the purple smudging around certain veins. 

“What the hell did you do?!” Lotus growled, glaring up at Banal. 

Banal could only sigh, looking down at his chest. “I threw up a barrier in front of Soralan and I thought I gave it too much magic, so I pulled some back and,” he motioned towards his chest. 

“Backlash?” 

Banal shrugged indifferently as the healer placed a cold, gloved hand on his chest. 

“You always had some backlash from your magic before, but I don’t recall it being this bad…” Lotus probed at the damage for a few silent minutes. Nothing was broken and thankfully none of the old injuries had been rattled. This time it was just bruising, though it was in a concerning place. “Nothing’s broken or fractured, but next time if it hits you this hard you might end up hitting your heart.” 

Banal snorted to show he heard. He ran his tongue over his teeth. He couldn’t understand why his magic was being so…obstinate like it was some unruly teenager. He leaned back in his chair to look at the ceiling. Lotus’s magic began to cool his chest, stopping any swelling and hopefully stopping the bleeding. 

Banal had functioned just fine before, with only minimal backlashing when he used too much. Now it was like his magic backlashed for using too little. He groaned. He knew he knew how to control his magic, but for some reason his magic didn’t really feel like his anymore. It was something else. And he just really wanted to be able to cast a fireball without throwing up. 

Lotus was silent as the Inquisitor contemplated his magical struggles. “Think your friendly, neighborhood spirit could help you figure this out?” 

Banal blinked, snapping out his thoughts. “What?” 

“Cole, Compassion, whatever the hell he is. He’s a spirit, aye?” Banal nodded. “Well, spirits know an awful lot about magic, aye? And Compassion ones like to help, so think he could help you figure out whatever the hell is going on with your magic?” 

Banal tossed that idea around for a moment. Cole might be able to figure out what’s causing the trouble…If it was something psychological or really just something wrong with Banal himself. Did something in the Fade change him? Aside from the whole shadow ordeal anyway. 

“He might…” 

“Worth a shot because frankly I’m getting tired of you being my patient.” Lotus smirked. 

Banal snorted, “And I grow tired of you being my doctor.” The two chuckled at the other. 

“One condition though,” Lotus said as he started for the door, “You wait for this and all the shit before to heal all the way before you let your little spirit boy root around, aye?” 

Banal rolled his eyes, “As though I have any choice in the matter.” 

Lotus laughed as he opened the door, “And here they said you couldn’t teach an old elf new tricks.” 

***** 

Dorian’s fingers carded mindlessly through Banal’s hair. The latter had gotten quite adept at ignoring the motion or rather he was concentrating so hard he hardly noticed. They sat in the loveseat before the fire. Banal lay against the human, using him as a pillow as he worked through a book the Altus had conjured up from somewhere. For now, he was stuck reading aloud so Dorian could see if he was actually reading…having been caught several times just moving his eyes over the page. 

It was a children’s book; short, little tales or songs with many pictures, it would’ve almost been insulting had the elf not struggled to read even the simplest things. But, Dorian noted, he was improving. He’d have to thank Giselle for finding _The Seer’s Yarn_ …and then scrub his mouth out with straight alcohol of the Dwarven variety. 

Banal’s fingers paused as they turned a page. He blinked in surprise at the words on the next page. Dorian looked over his shoulder. The elf smoothed the page gently, as though it was a great tome (which was something he did with every book he touched). A picture of a Dalish woman stroking her child’s hair sat on the opposite the poem. 

“ _Mir Da’len Somniar_ ,” Banal stuttered just a bit as he put his own language into another alphabet. A small smile cracked over his face as though he had a pleasant memory. 

“You know it?” Dorian asked. It was an elven lullaby according to the author. 

Banal turned his head towards his voice, but his eyes did not leave the page. “I used to sing it to the twins when they were small…” he said distantly. “Well a song with this in it anyway; this is a fragment, some words lost in translation as well as to time.” 

Dorian watched him quietly. Those draconic eyes flitted over the page as he read old words in a new way. He seemed almost surprised, perhaps (dare he say it) joyful. “You look surprised to find it here,” Dorian mumbled, kissing at the elf’s jaw. Banal blinked and looked at him finally. 

“I am.” He smiled softly, turning back to the book, “When I woke, I found everything I once knew gone; I was in a strange land with stranger people. Everything I knew was dust or ruins… 

“Yet, now I see what was once ancient become new. Bits of my home still exist, just in a different form.” Banal turned with a puzzled expression on his face, “It is…comforting, I suppose, to see.” 

Dorian chuckled at the elf’s sentimentality. Though, it seemed Elvhen were a very melancholic people that found a sliver of joy in such things. Suddenly a thought popped into his head. “You know you all might be the only ones who know what truly happened to the Elves, what they were like…” Banal’s eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into his eyes as he waited for the point. “My people went to great lengths to expunge your people’s history and culture. Have you not thought to help your people remember?” 

For a moment, Banal was stunned to be having this conversation with Dorian of all people. The human was logical, a scholar in a way, so being confronted with the idea that his lover was thousands of years old should’ve been a baffling concept. He shifted to look at the human better. As far as he knew, Dorian didn’t believe anything they had learned at the Temple. 

“What?” Dorian asked at the skeptical look on the Inquisitor’s face. Did he say something that crazy? 

“I am just…surprised you’ve accepted the idea of me being far older than my looks…” Banal struggled to articulate his thoughts. Dorian chuckled. 

“Well, considering you are far from any elf I’ve ever met, and you seem to know a great deal of things no one else does…like how to be a griffon.” Dorian tucked the white strand behind his ear absently. “It’s still a big, mind boggling thought though.” 

Banal snorted, “To you perhaps.” 

“Yes, well, hence my questions.” 

For some reason, the human felt strongly about this preservation of knowledge. Banal’s senses felt the buzzing, heard the muffled notes of a song he could not fully hear. As always, Dorian was hard to read in any sense. 

“The Dalish have taken what little they know and pieced it together. There are some aspects of Elvhen society even the city elves have, despite our Jenny proving otherwise.” Banal paused to roll his eyes. “Some things they’ve gotten wrong and I fear what the truth might do to them.” 

“Such as?” Dorian probed. 

The Inquisitor frowned, “Their vallaslin meant they were a slave in my time.” Dorian blinked at that. Did that mean Banal was a slave? He had a hard time imagining the elf bowing to anyone. In fact, he couldn’t. He couldn’t even imagine him as one of the slaves back home. 

“Oh,” was all the Altus could think to say. 

“Sometimes, ignorance is truly bliss and it is best to keep it that way.” Banal turned back around as though the conversation was over. He thought it was, turning the page. 

“But,” Dorian started, “how would you know how they would take it if you never told them?” After all, knowledge, even the terrible, awful truths of the world, deserved to be shared. The elf had to know this since he was letting Cassandra write down what happened in the Fade…minus the Corruption demons, oh and Banal turning into one. 

“You would have me risk destroying an entire culture for the sake of sharing knowledge?” Banal scoffed. And people called him the God of Corruption. A hand ran through his hair. He shivered against it, letting it pull his head down to the human’s shoulder. 

Dorian frowned down at the elf, “I hardly think they would take it that badly…so long as you weren’t…” He trailed off to find the word. 

“Overly judgmental?” Banal supplied. 

“Something like, yes. They’ve changed the meaning, correct? They wear it for their gods—“ 

“Which is not so different from what it was,” Banal interrupted. “Slaves were like offerings to the gods, the Evanuris, who were also not what the Dalish think they are.” Dorian rolled his eyes. 

“And you seem to think the Dalish are very fragile.” That got a glare from the elf, halfhearted though it was; he was enjoying Dorian’s petting too much to have real ire. 

Banal sighed loudly, “And how do you tell a people who struggles to keep what they know alive that nearly everything is wrong? Their gods,” Banal spat the word, “were nothing more than powerful mages who rose in power after a great war. People thought them divine and they did nothing to abolish the idea. Moreover, how do you think they’ll take the news that I’m one of their evil gods?” Did the human really think the Dalish would listen or believe anything he had to say? 

This time Dorian snorted, “They don’t even remember your name, so how would they know who you were unless you told them?” Silly elf, it was a simple fix. Though he could see how telling the Dalish about their gods would upset them…maybe. After all, the Imperium believed Andraste to be not only a mortal but also a mage. She rose up in power just as the apparent Evanuris. Banal huffed a breath, closing his eyes as Dorian’s hand worked magic on his temper. 

“Beyond that, amatus, you could just tell them they’ve taken something old and made it new.” Banal groaned at how the human was literally using his words against him. The human chuckled; the elf would never argue against his own words. “It couldn’t hurt to try, could it?” 

Dorian watched, as the elf seemed to debate with himself. A frown etched lines into his face. He didn’t think he was asking a philosophical question nor suggesting something totally preposterous. Was he? He hadn’t met many Dalish, so perhaps the elf had some insight into their behaviors that he lacked… 

Banal opened his eyes to glare up at a griffon fresco Vhena had painted above his windows. The big black creature’s wings spread wide with images inside: on one side an ancient almost primeval marsh with fantastic flowers, on the other, a sandy temple springing from the desert floor. 

He didn’t think he could just tell every Dalish the truth. He’d rip them to shreds, especially the more traditional Clans and the ones who were fine with how things are. He supposed, though, he could offer his knowledge to anyone who might wish to listen. He’d just have to be careful in his phrasings. They might not be Elvhen, but they were Elven, just as the dwarves of old have changed into this age’s dwarves. 

“I hate you,” Banal growled at the human. Dorian blinked. 

“For what?” 

“Being obnoxiously right. I miss the days when I didn’t care about anything or anyone,” He grumbled. It was a much simpler time. He could just act without a thought or care in the world. 

Dorian’s jaw flexed as he hid the wince he wanted to do. He thought of how nonchalant and callous the Inquisitor was when they first met. Granted, the elf had just been spell purged and thus had a reason to be grumpy, but still, comparing that Banal to this one…was a stark difference. 

He kissed the elf’s temple, letting his lips linger. A breath brought the elf’s now signature scent: orchids and smoke. “I happen to like this you just fine, amatus.” 

***** 

Vhena came up just after lunch, balancing a silver tray on one hip. As usual, she was all smiles when she saw her father laying against Dorian. “I thought you two might enjoy a break,” She greeted. She placed the tray on the table, “And An’nas said you were still supposed to be eating, Papae.” 

Banal groaned, “Of course, he did.” Her father’s exasperated look made her giggle. It was like he was pouting at being told to eat his vegetables. Vhena uncovered the food, save one platter she decided to save. Light finger foods scattered about the tray, things one could eat with the three bowls of soup. “Well at least I’ve graduated from broth…” Banal mumbled. 

Dorian laughed as the elf sat up. They arranged themselves properly as Vhena pulled a chair over. “So what are you two doing up here far from the world?” 

The girl had mischievous glint in her eyes that automatically set off warning bells in Banal’s head. He narrowed his eyes. Dorian, however, only saw girlish curiosity. Banal supposed it was just because he was her father and had learned after many broken things children were always up to something. 

Vhena just kept smiling, ignoring her father’s stare. 

“I’ve been teaching your father how to read Common,” Dorian stated simply. Vhena furrowed her eyebrows as she nibbled on a tiny sandwich triangle. “Banal didn’t like the idea of reading aloud in the library so we came up here.” 

“I don’t wish to announce my ignorance of your tongue to the whole castle,” Banal hissed. His markings flickered purple and orange. So he was self-conscious over this, sue him. He didn’t like the fact that he was currently reading lullabies and fairy tales like a five year old with only a marginally better success rate. A rate he only had because he had all his teeth. 

“You are doing quite fine,” Dorian countered, “compared to how you were when we started. At least the letters are now letters, hmm?” 

Vhena giggled, “What are you reading, Papae?” She smiled even brighter at his sigh. He probably thought they were ganging up on him. 

“A children’s book,” was all he offered, holding up the book in question. Vhena squinted her eyes at the writing, nose wrinkling like a fennec fox’s. “It actually has that old lullaby I would sing to you.” 

That made her blink is surprise. “Really? Which one?” Her father sang many songs to them as children, though to get him to admit that was like pulling teeth. She was more surprised, however, that something that old had survived, especially something as insignificant as a lullaby. 

“ _Mir Da’len Somniar_.” 

Her eyes went wide even as a gentle smile touched her face. “I remember you singing that when we were sick…” As the words left her mouth, she remembered being in her bed with An’nas. Their fevers were high, their breathing loud, and their bodies aching. They were young, perhaps just six or seven, but she could remember clearly waking up to her father putting cold rags on their foreheads or falling asleep against their bed so lightly he’d wake if they so much as coughed. 

He’d stroke their heads and tell them old tales while he tried to get them to eat. He’d sing that song to get them to go to sleep. Vhena smiled at the old memory; Banal was pure black back then, yet still capable of such white things. 

Banal, however, remembered grumbling a lot in his head. He also cursed a lot. He found how easily the virus took them out to be pathetic. His head often told him just to leave them alone; if they died, that was that. Yet, he never left save the few times Soralan and Ververa pulled him out. He never understood why he couldn’t get himself to leave, nor why his stomach rolled when he thought about it or why his chest hurt when they coughed. 

Now Banal knew that he had become attached to his little spawns even when he was more demon himself. 

He chuckled at his thoughts as Vhena and Dorian chatted happily with each other. An’nas and Tahon joined them for a spell, mostly so An’nas could see for himself that Banal actually ate. He wasn’t that hungry, despite his body still recovering, but he managed to eat half the bowl. 

Dorian smiled as Banal and Tahon traded jabs, An’nas refusing to take sides. 

“You’re the one who antagonizes him and I’m not going to be responsible for his retribution,” the sable haired elf told his mate. Said mate frowned. 

“The old man retaliate? As though he could at his age,” Tahon smirked playfully at Banal. The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes. Oh, that was it; the little puppy was going down, one way or another. Banal just had to heal first. 

The rest of lunch, Banal was preoccupied in how exactly to make Tahon’s life miserable. Soon An’nas and Tahon left, leaving the other three behind. Vhena went on about things she planned to do to the garden. The lotuses weren’t taking a liking to the cold air, so she thought to bring them inside. She also, vaguely, hinted that Merrill wished to talk to Banal more, particularly about all things Elvhen. 

By the time she had finished talking, Dorian and Banal had both finished eating. They sat there watching as she bounced from one topic to the next. Dorian had to stifle laughter at how apathetic her father looked at her. 

“Well I promised Merrill I’d help with her eluvian this afternoon,” Vhena smiled sweetly as she stood. “You two enjoy your dessert,” She giggled, flitting down the stairs. Banal automatically narrowed his eyes. 

“She’s up to something,” He grumbled. Dorian turned to him questioningly. “You’ve never had children obviously.” One of the first instincts to develop was the ability to tell when a child was up to mischief. Ironically, he only had to worry about Vhena’s mischief-making; An’nas hardly ever schemed. 

“What could she possibly be up to?” Dorian scoffed. Not like she’d prank the food like Sera…right? 

Banal’s eyes rested on the still covered tray. Nothing was wrong with it as he felt no ill will on it. His eyes narrowed again. She always giggled, acted sweet around Falon’Din and then they’d find themselves alone in the baths with a sweet incense that worked wonders on certain bodily functions. 

While he didn’t smell the aphrodisiac, he could guess the “dessert” happened to be a set up. He sighed; why couldn’t he have a daughter who stayed out of his love life? Banal reluctantly uncovered the tray. A jar of honey and a platter of apple slices sat neatly on a silver tray. He blinked. Sly little girl… 

“Apples and honey?” Dorian asked quietly. When one said dessert, he thought of candied grapes or tiny cakes. Banal chuckled, grabbing a slice and dipping it into the golden jar. He looked as happy as a child in a candy store or a drunk in a brewery. A crisp bite brought tart and sweet to his taste buds and he sighed blissfully. 

“You’re awfully happy over honey…” Dorian commented as the elf licked his thumb. He tried very hard not to imagine filthy things about the action, but it might have been a losing battle. 

“What? Not up to your standards?” Banal chuckled. He had missed honey. It was his favorite food even if it wasn’t really a food. Even with the memory block, he always loved the sweetness; it was pleasant, soft and comforting. Without the block, he remembered his father and brother sneaking him a jar and some fruit whenever he had a particularly bad day. Even Elgar’nan would bribe him with honey. 

“When I think of dessert, I think chocolate covered cherries or—“ 

“I’m allergic to cherries,” Banal interrupted as he sucked off a drop of honey from the pad of his thumb. Dorian blinked, snapping out of watching the elf. 

“Truly?” 

Banal nodded, grabbing yet another slice, “I remember them tasting good until my throat closed. Then it’s just this blur.” 

Well that’s good to know, Dorian thought absently. His throat began to dry as the elf’s lips wrapped around the apple. The tip of his tongue darted out, catching stray drops. And…Dorian lost the battle. 

A hand wrapped around Banal’s wrist as he raised another slice to his mouth. He jumped at the sudden contact. His eyes darted from the hand up to the human in surprise. “Don’t be greedy,” Dorian smirked, tugging Banal’s hand towards him. Their eyes locked. The Inquisitor seemed genuinely surprised as he brought the apple to the Altus’s mouth. A wicked glint flickered behind the human’s eyes as his lips brushed the lips of Banal’s fingers as he bit the apple in half. 

Suddenly, Banal understood. He smirked, letting the human take the rest of the fruit with his tongue. Vhena always had been good at reading other people and that she made lunch, he doubted the honey was a coincidence. 

He tried hard to remember when the last time was that his stomach coiled around small embers. Perhaps weeks, maybe a few months…after Crestwood. A small shiver ran down his spine, remembering that day. He blinked, pushing those thoughts away. 

Dorian returned the smile as he let go of Banal’s wrist. Both their minds turned to the gutter. “More?” Banal asked in a deceptively innocent manner. He picked up another slice and drizzled gold over it, honey dripping onto his fingers. How clumsy of him… 

“Shouldn’t I be the one to feed you?” Dorian chuckled. The elf brought the fruit to his lips. Apple and honey wafted through the air. His mouth salivated for another reason. 

“Hmm, here I thought you wanted to be pampered,” Banal purred as the other took the apple into his mouth. A small shiver tensed up his neck as a tongue licked the honey from his skin. 

“Of course I expect to be pampered,” Dorian scoffed, “but I’m not the injured one.” The elf rolled his eyes. Still when the Altus offered an apple, he took it (and his fingers) into his mouth. His eyes flicked up to Dorian’s. A challenge flared in them. 

When it came to the game of seduction, Banal knew every trick. The way he wrapped his lips around Dorian’s finger, how he licked away the sweetness with a subtle amount of suck, right down to how he lowered his eyelids, everything plucked cords inside the human. The fact that Banal could hear the desire’s soft tune behind his ears helped. When the noise spiked for a second, the human would shiver and shift. For once, he didn’t mind the song, it in turn plucking his own cords. 

Dorian slid his fingers out of his mouth, pupils dilating. The elf was good he had to admit. The challenging smirk on his lips said he knew it too. 

Dorian chuckled, picking up another apple. He went to place it between the Inquisitor’s slightly parted lips, but a better idea flickered across his mind. He brought it to his own mouth instead, holding it in place with his teeth. 

The elf laughed, moving closer. His mouth covered the other’s, taking his half of the slice. Even as he swallowed, his tongue ran over the human’s lips. Honey and the tart juice of the apples mingled there. The human sighed, letting the elf in. How long since this had happened? Dorian couldn’t pinpoint a date, nor cared to, it just felt like it was eons ago, which, as the warmth spreading up his body attested, was far too long. 

A hand threaded itself through Banal’s hair on the back of his head, pulling him closer. Their tongues slid against each other. Banal’s hands splayed against the human’s chest. Another hand glided up his shirt. The soft touches sent goosebumps over the elf’s skin. 

“Dessert?” Banal breathed as they parted only a fraction. 

Dorian hummed a quiet “dessert” before he seized the elf’s mouth again. He turned towards the elf. His knee came onto the seat, giving him a bit more leverage against the Inquisitor. Banal hummed as the other pushed him onto his back. Dorian’s thigh rested between his legs; a little shift pushed the stays of his trousers against his cock. A small groan vibrated against their lips. 

Still there wasn’t enough contact; Banal reached up to pull the human down. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder as the muscle caught. He hissed, body locking up. His chest constricted. He tried to work passed the pain, not letting Dorian know. 

Sadly, the human was far more perceptive as he withdrew his lips. Worry hid behind his eyes as he looked over the elf. He hadn’t put his full weight on him, using the armrest behind Banal’s head to help support him. But when a blood ritual had been used to heal someone, how cautious one could be meant little. 

“Did I hurt you?” He asked quietly. The Inquisitor winced, eyes trying to hide pain. He was breathing rather harshly through his teeth as well. 

“No,” Banal answered, which was true. His shoulder screamed again as he tried to reach up and pull Dorian back. Why couldn’t he just heal and go about his business? This was beyond frustrating. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t train, and now he couldn’t even fuck. All he could do was read books, sign papers, and listen to boring nobles. A growl escaped him when Dorian sat back. 

“Then why did you hiss in pain?” The human cocked an eyebrow. He could guess the elf would try to lie, but the two shades of color his face had lost was pretty telling. Fooling around (no matter how long it had been) wasn’t worth injury. 

“I—“ 

“Banal…” Dorian sighed, stopping him from whatever lie he thought would help. 

Banal bit his lip, letting his arms rest on his chest, which pulsated hotly with pain. “It’s nothing,” he grumbled, turning his head to the window. A flicker of anger echoed behind his ears. In a different key than normal, he guessed it was frustration. Sure enough, as he glanced at the human, Dorian narrowed his eyes. 

“Nothing doesn’t make you wince,” he growled. What was the elf’s problem with admitting he was in pain or troubled or anything really? He was perfectly fine showing anger or happiness. 

Banal sighed, not liking the song he was hearing. “My shoulder,” He admitted quietly. “It hurts to move it passed my chest…which is also bruised.” He hoped he hadn’t done something that warranted the sling coming back. For the love of death and decay, he hated that thing. 

Dorian shifted over him, leaning down. A soft kiss pressed against his cheek. “Was that so hard?” Banal turned to face him with a “go to hell” glare. “Now, now, don’t make that face; they’ll carve it into stone.” Fingers carded through his hair thoughtfully. Then the elf’s words caught up to him. “Your chest is bruised? From what?” 

“Vhena’s training.” 

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. Banal never sparred with his daughter, nor would Lotus have allowed it. “You fought her?” 

“No, she…got angry and lost control for a moment. I made a shield to keep ice from shooting into Soralan’s heart.” Banal talked up to the ceiling. His muscles relaxed at Dorian’s carefully strokes. 

“How does that make your chest bruised?” 

“My magic backlashed against me,” was the only answer he could give. It was hard to explain to himself let alone other people. Cole might be able to understand it better, but everyone else it was best just to be vague. Dorian nodded in acceptance of the answer, mostly because he was thinking of something else. 

What were they to do? Banal was hurt, yet just as horny as Dorian. Plus Vhena had set all this up for them; it’d be rude to waste it. Then again, Dorian had no intention of hurting the elf or rather letting him hurt himself because he was demanding. 

Dorian hummed thoughtfully as he absently kissed the elf’s lips. “What to do?” he murmured. 

Banal could think of several answers. A shiver ran through him as the tip of his ear was caressed. Lips kissed their way to the corner of his jaw. Another pass over his ear had him humming contently, like a cat. A chuckle fanned across his skin. 

“Elves are awfully cat-like,” Dorian’s teeth nicked his skin. Banal tilted his head to let him at his neck. 

“Perhaps cats are merely Elvhen-like,” he countered. His pulse leapt under Dorian’s tongue. With his good arm, he ran his fingers through Dorian’s hair, tugging just a bit. The human was content to ignore his demand. He continued to bite and suck along his jaw. “You’re going to leave marks,” Banal growled. There were ways to hide them sure…if you didn’t have a daughter who insisted on doing your hair. 

Dorian shifted, pressing his thigh between Banal’s legs again. He rubbed against him. Banal bit his lip, jaw clenching from holding back a moan. He hated the noises he made. To him, he sounded…needy, whiney perhaps, things he never wanted to be. 

The human tore himself away to look at him with a cocked eyebrow. He rubbed harder. Pink began to flood the elf’s skin. For a moment, he thought it was just the marks, but looking closer, the skin beneath was flushing, the marks a darker shade than the rest. Dorian cocked his head to the side. 

A drop of blood welled up from Banal’s lip. The elf apparently did not particularly like something. 

“Something wrong, amatus?” Dorian asked quietly. Shifting his weight to one arm, he reached up and pressed his thumb against the elf’s lips. Banal opened his eyes. His lips parted, pulled from his teeth. His jaw clenched as the human’s hips stilled. 

He tried to reach up, but his arm had none of it. “No,” Banal managed, though his voice was thick. He bucked his hips up. A moan slipped out from his nose. He could only frown at himself. 

Dorian laughed, however. “Impatient?” He teased. Neither of them wanted to draw this out, cocks starting to ache. Banal narrowed his eyes. He rubbed his own leg against the human’s bulge. 

“Like you aren’t?” 

“Touché,” Dorian moaned. His fingers worked at Banal’s shirt. His lips moved over the other’s. Heated breaths left them in the small moments they separated. Cool air touched Banal’s chest. Warmth traced patterns around his torso, teasing the contours of his muscles with feather light touches. 

Dorian moved lower, over the elf’s jugular. A soft sigh left the elf. Dorian’s finger flicked over Banal’s nipple. A moan slipped out, though he clamped down his mouth at the end. The human’s eyes flicked up to the elf’s face. His jaw clenched again, eyes shut as though locking himself down. 

The Altus moved his hips again; nail dragging across the pert bud. The elf’s jaw twitched. His teeth creaked as he held back. But he tilted his head back, arching his back though his chest ached. 

“Shhh, relax,” Dorian whispered. He lifted himself to kiss the Inquisitor’s eyelids softly. Banal’s eyes opened, already glazed over. Hot pink flickered dangerously over his markings, accenting his eyes as well as any desire demon’s. Dorian rolled his nipple. A strangled noise came from the elf. “Weren’t you the one who told me it’s no fun if you don’t make sounds?” Dorian chuckled, rocking down hard against the elf. 

Banal’s chest fluttered anxiously, tightening. The embers turned to full-blown flames. His muscles coiled as lips moved against his throat. Hips rutted against him, dragging his stays against his hard flesh mercilessly. A hand teased his chest, the nail scraping over him, only for the sting to be rubbed away. 

Fuck, the human wasn’t playing fair. Banal’s breathing hitched. A finger traced itself way down his abs…A groan vibrated against Dorian’s lips on the elf’s neck. The sound shot right to Dorian’s cock. He didn’t think he’d ever hear the elf lose himself. Yet as he kissed lower, tongue flicking out over the markings, another moan came out. Banal’s fingers tightened in his hair, hand trying to shove him downwards faster. 

Dorian was quite happy to take his time, giving the elf’s nipples some attention. His hand untied the elf’s trousers, slipping down to caress hot flesh. He got a quiver and a throaty moan for his efforts. 

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” Banal growled. The human’s tongue continued marking its path down his torso. When it got to his hips, it stopped. He whined before looking down his body. Dorian shifted back, freeing his cock with a tug of his pants. The human seemed mesmerized by the markings that traced the angles of his hips, darting close to his mast, but danced away down his legs. 

For a moment, Banal wondered what went through the Altus’s head. Then Dorian smirked licking his lips. Sure the bruise was a little concerning, but he wasn’t really paying attention to that. His lips wrapped around the tip of the elf’s cock. A sharp tug on his hair accompanied a whine. 

The human’s eyes met the Inquisitor’s half-lidded ones. The elf’s pupils filled nearly the whole iris. The pink darting through the tattoos pulsed like flames, giving him a truly wicked and otherworldly look. Dorian’s stomach coiled at the intensity of the stare. 

Banal’s eyelashes fluttered as Dorian ran the flat of his tongue over his slit. Still, they remained locked on the Altus as he slowly took more of the elf. A moan slipped from his lips from just the feel of wet heat around him. He was suddenly reminded why he could never be a chaste person. 

When Dorian paused at the base, Banal’s hips gave a tiny urging buck. Warm air caressed his cold skin as the human snorted. A hand pressed against his hip to still him. Teeth dragged over his cock, a moan following in their wake. 

A whimper escaped when Dorian’s mouth left him. The human was obviously enjoying himself. His tongue flicked over Banal’s crown, tasting the fluid there. A slight spice with a cool crisp invaded his mouth, buzzing with magic. Dorian filed any thoughts he might have away, preoccupied with more important matters. 

The elf’s body tensed at every lick, tongue tracing itself way down and back up again. The hand in his hair tightened. The human took him in his mouth again, fingers teasing the skin around the base. He formed a ring around it, moving in sync with his mouth. A suck around his crown let out a guttural growl. 

Banal stopped caring, abandoning any reason or thought to pure bliss. He might have spoken a few muttered elvish phrases, encouraging one action over another: a bit more pressure against the underside vein, a little more suck. His markings glowed brighter with every intake of breath, dulled with each moan like flames. His eyelids fluttered shut as all his muscles began to bunch. 

His hand tightened in Dorian’s hair, giving a slight tug to warn the human. Said human sped up his ministrations, pulling moan after moan from the elf. Banal’s other hand found its way into Dorian’s hair, just so he could hang on to something tangible. His toes curled, leg sliding up against Dorian’s side. The strokes became harder. White flashed across Banal’s eyes. 

Banal came with a shout. His back bowed off the cushions as his markings flashed with ecstasy. Dorian’s hand stroked the flesh his mouth wasn’t around, coaxing out his orgasm. That smoky spice filled his mouth in spurts, leaving a cold in its wake. 

The elf sank back into the loveseat. All his muscles unlocked suspended in a haze, arms falling limply to his side. Absently he watched Dorian fix his trousers before the human moved up his body to place a sweet kiss on his lips. Banal made a move as though he was trying to get up, a hand placed against the human’s bulge. 

The Altus hummed against his lips, but pulled away. A gentle hand encircled his wrist pulling it up to kiss the Anchor. “No need for that.” Banal frowned at his words. Dorian only chuckled. “Consider this my contribution to the get-well-soon committee.” 

The elf eyed him in mock suspicion. He smirked, placing another kiss to his knuckles like some noble knight. Banal tilted his head back against the armrest. “So, I am in your debt, is that what you are saying?” His voice was gravelly, but playful. Dorian interlaced their fingers together as his lips pressed against the elf’s. For a moment, it was more tongue than lip, the Inquisitor determined to get his way. 

The human, however, pulled away with a chuckle. “I rather like having you at my mercy.” 

***** 

A few days later, Banal and Leliana were discussing how they would get to some remote Chantry when they were interrupted. Elvish shouts echoed up through the tower. Birds startled, squawking loudly in their cages. Banal winced, covering his ears as both the physical and the emotional noises collided in his head. 

Leliana gave him a look of concern before they both went to the railing to look down. At the very bottom stood Solas and Tahon on opposite ends of the desk. Tahon gestured wildly with his hands as he took his turn in yelling. Anger, very old resentments filtered through all the noise as Banal watched him. Sadness danced around the notes. His eyes shifted over to Solas. 

Anger was there, but worry and grief powered its frantic beat. Banal frowned, sensing that somehow he was involved without ever having to open his mouth. Slowly the outside world came back along with the garbled mess of shouts and their echoes. 

He glanced at Leliana, telling her with his eyes he was going to have to deal with this. She nodded in understanding before he made his way down to the library. Down there the noises were less, muffled by the books, so he could actually understand the conversation as he made for the ground level. 

“ _You surely realize he is just using you,_ ” Solas sounded almost like he was pleading at this point. Perhaps he was. The boy he had raised had turned into such a stubborn young man. One who was blind to the man, the demon he called father-in-law, and, as Solas saw in Adamant, An’nas shared his father’s cursed blood. 

Tahon, however, only snorted at his concern, “ _Oh, you mean like the family **you left me with**? _ ” Solas flinched at the gold eyes glaring at him. There was pain and anger centuries old in their depths. “ _At least, these guys haven’t tried to assassinate me for power._ ” 

Banal quietly stopped just outside Solas’ room, leaning against the wall. So he was right about him being involved. Somehow being right this time didn’t make him feel better as he pushed down at the shadow wanting to reach out to the arguing duo. 

Solas gritted his teeth for a moment. “ _Only because you still serve a purpose to them, to him_ ,” he growled. 

Tahon’s eyes narrowed even more. “ _And what purpose would that be? An’nas and I can’t have children, I gave my holdings to Banal, and, oh yeah, this isn’t the fucking Elvhenan!_ ” His voice echoed through the tower, setting off another wave of squawks. “ _Whatever political stand I had is long gone!_ ” 

The two wolves glared at each other for a moment. Solas assumed Banal only kept Tahon close as leverage against him. After all, what better way to ensure your enemy can’t strike you from behind than to have one of their own standing there? 

“ _Banal didn’t seek me out like everyone else. **I**. Went. To. **Him**_ ,” Tahon snapped as though he could read minds. “ _ **I** followed An’nas home, **I** asked him for help, he had no contact with me until **I** sought him out._ ” 

Solas looked like he had been slapped, “ _Did you not think I—_ ” 

“ _You were the one who put me in that situation!_ ” Tahon’s voice sounded like a thunderclap going through the tower. Centuries of anger came boiling out. Magic even built in the air, shifting and rippling. Pages fluttered in a sudden phantom breeze. “ _You left me with them while you went out and began your ‘rebellion’_ ,” Tahon sneered at the word. 

“ _To protect you,_ ” Solas countered, his own words scattering the birds. 

“ _Bullshit,_ ” Tahon growled, “ _You dumped me off with them so you didn’t have to deal with me_.” That made Solas’ glare waiver, his frustration cool. Molten gold eyes flickered as though trying to keep tears away as they bored into the Dread Wolf. “ _For my three hundredth birthday, I was sent war. They had hoped I’d be killed. They poisoned my Hart, Papae, just before the battle. She went down, but I managed to kick loose before she fell on me,_ ” he paused, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. His eyes focused on the ground. 

He had raised that Hart from a calf. She wasn’t the flashiest Hart, hell she was the smallest one when she was born. But she was his first Hart; she hadn’t even reached twenty winters before she was killed. All for fucking politics. 

Tahon’s anger returned, the pain making it stronger. “ _But you know, I didn’t care if they were trying to kill me. Banal was there to thwart their attempts. Sama, Sula, N’lin, all of them helped to keep me alive until I inherited Tarasyl’an._ ” He looked back at his father with a hard look. 

“ _You know who came to my coronation? Banal. You know who tied An’nas and mine’s bond? Banal. You know who I went to for advice or hell just support? Banal. Not you._ ” Solas winced again as Tahon wielded his words with precision. “ _Not you because you **never** came back but a few times._ ” 

Solas’s voice was barely a whisper now, “ _If you had tried to contact me…_ ,” Solas trailed off as Tahon snorted like he had tried. By the spirits, he had tried. When he had first left, Tahon wrote him hundreds of letters, asking him when he’d come back. After the first attempt on his life, he wrote dozens of them, asking him to take him away. But the Dread Wolf hardly replied. 

To a young boy, it was like being cast off. To a young boy who knew he was adopted, it was even worse. It was like nobody wanted him. 

Solas’ face turned confused. He had never received any letters from Tahon. They were all from others, stating he was fine, or giving progress reports of Tahon’s studies. Suddenly, everything clicked. It seemed even his people fell prey to the madness of the Evanuris’ power struggle. 

Even still, the Shadow did nothing, allowed nothing to happen without a reason. Perhaps he had wished to strike against Solas’ army, corrupt it from the top down. There had to be some logical reason as to why Banal allowed Tahon, son of his enemy, to stay with him. 

Tahon closed his eyes and shook his head at his father’s words. His fists shook, gut sinking. Those were all possibilities sure. Banal was cunning, ruthless and downright vicious. Still, he found it hard to believe he was that callous. All evidence to the contrary. 

Unconsciously, he gripped the second necklace around his neck. Not his bond that held the wolf jaw that matches Solas’, but the smaller one with bones wrapped in thread and an elongated fang as the pendant. It was Banal’s wedding present to him, allowing him to walk safely through the black eluvians without An’nas. He found out later, it also allows the dark elf to pinpoint his location, most likely because it held a scrap of his magic. It could even tell when he was hurt. 

Tahon took a shaky breath, feeling that darkness shift under his fingertips. ‘So long as you have a Shadow on your side there is no foe who can stand against you, _da’fen_ ,’ Banal had said that long ago. Tahon could barely remember when or why. 

At first, he had been suspicious of the dark elf (how could he not when all he heard about the Forgotten Ones were horror stories?), but the old man grew on him. He traded barbs back and forth with him, yanked him back down to the ground when his thoughts took him to the clouds. He listened and hell he managed scheme after scheme to ruin assassination after assassination attempt. All for nothing. At least, he thought it was for nothing… 

Tahon squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to stare down at his father. He pushed that little flicker of doubt out of his head, pushing down all the anxieties it proposed. If his father thought he could accuse An’nas or his prickly-ass father of playing him, he was sorely mistaken. “ _Or, and here’s a crazy thought, I love An’nas and he loves me._ ” He bit out. “ _And unlike you, Banal is able to put aside his pride for his son!_ ” 

His words hung in the air as he pushed passed Solas to the door leading outside. Banal winced at the door slamming. That…was a pretty low blow. Quietly, he slunk out of his hiding spot, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed as he watched the Dread Wolf’s head slowly return to normal color. 

“ _So I see your family discussions end about as well as mine,_ ” Banal joked drily. Solas sighed and turned to glare at him. His eyes said he wasn’t in the mood. The Inquisitor only held up his hands in peace. “ _Down, Fen. Not here to rub salt in the wounds your puppy gave you_.” Okay, so he kind was, but not out of spite. If Banal was suddenly nice to him, he might get the wrong idea that Banal tolerated him. Or worse: liked him. He shuddered at the thought. 

Solas snorted and turned as though to follow Tahon out. Banal shadowstepped. His hand grabbed the Wolf’s shoulder, pulling him back. Solas ripped himself away, turning to face the dark elf with a suspicious glare. 

“ _You both need to cool down,_ ” Banal spoke calmly, “ _Give him some space for a bit. Maybe go talk to Cole; he’ll give you a nice therapy session I’m sure. I’ll go find An’nas and he’ll calm the puppy down._ ” As he spoke, he guided Solas towards the other exit. Well more like herded him. 

Solas looked at him warily. “ _Why?_ ” Banal knew that question wasn’t asking about him suddenly trying to help him. 

The Inquisitor’s face betrayed nothing. Only his markings flickered with Solas’ emotions: orange, green, purple. He watched him steadily for a few heartbeats. “ _I want my son to be happy_ ” He stated simply. “ _And if that annoying pup is what makes that happen, then,_ ” he merely finished with a shrug. 

Solas’ eyes flickered between his, trying to see if he was lying. Banal didn’t think he was satisfied with that answer, or couldn’t fully believe it, but the bald elf did nod and turn towards the door. 

“ _Speaking of my son,_ ” Banal called out just as Solas touched the door, “ _it would be best if you avoid him for…well for a great long while. He’s likely to punch you._ ” and with that Banal waltzed out the other door in search of his son. 

***** 

“ _Fenlin_?” An’nas’s voice was quiet. The bard took a few hesitant steps towards his husband. The duelist’s back was stiff, his fists shaking on his crossed legs. He sat in a meditative stance, like he was trying to find some peace there on the battlements. “Are you alright?” 

Tahon barely turned his head. “Of course, how could I not be alright?” He tried to sound his normal flippant self, but his voice shook. An’nas frowned. 

“Father told me you and your father had a bit of a go…” Another step forward. He could feel the pain and hurt swirling around him. It made a storm that could nearly choke him. The duelist shrugged noncommittally. 

“That’s to be expected right?” An’nas stopped directly behind him. He sunk to his knees and wrapped his arms around his husband. The fur was soft under his chin as he rested it on Tahon’s shoulder. The duelist’s eyes were clenched shut, teeth biting into his bottom lip. 

“You should know by now that acting tough around me gets you nowhere, _Fenlin_.” An’nas turned his head to watch his face. His arms tightened as a shaky breath came from Tahon. 

“Talking about it isn’t going to make me feel better, An’nas.” 

“Uh-oh you used my name; you are clearly distraught.” An’nas snickered, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair back behind Tahon’s ear. A small smile graced his lips. 

“Don’t get cute.” Tahon turned so their lips brushed before he faced the surrounding mountains again. They sat in silence for a long while watching the light bounce off the snow. Tahon tried to sort through his thoughts. 

He expected his father to not approve of his choices. Prepared for it. But he couldn’t have prepared for all the bad memories, the pain and anger he had tried to bury a long time ago to come back to the surface. He didn’t think it’d hurt that much. 

He shook his head before tugging on An’nas’s arm. “Hey, come here.” The bard blinked before he moved around to sit on the duelist’s lap. He pulled him close, burying his nose in that odd white hair. A deep breath brought the scent of elfroot, embrium, and spices, a faint whiff of lightning, and just plain An’nas. “That’s better.” He mumbled against the hair. 

“Wolves…” An’nas sighed in mock exasperation. Tahon chuckled. 

“Halla…” Tahon countered as he kissed the side of his head. After a few moments of silence, Tahon quietly spoke his thoughts. “You know what’s funny? I’ve been in six battles…wars whatever you want to classify them, and am bonded and I’m still just a child to him.” 

An’nas knew how that felt. Though technically speaking compared to Solas and Banal, they were children. Still. He wouldn’t say that his father didn’t still treat him like a child, but he did so less often it seemed. Like at the Temple. Before his father would’ve snorted and just stared at him like he was throwing a tantrum. But he had listened. It took a lot of yelling, but he still listened. 

However, he knew better than to compare anyone to Banal. “Is that what upset you?” He asked gently. He felt Tahon stiffen under him. 

“Not really. It’s just…” The duelist sighed, trying to let it all just go. “He fucking left me with a bunch of strangers when I was a hundred and twenty five.” Being around humans, that sounded so odd now. Sure to the mortals that was odd enough to be on your own and dead. But to Elvhen? To Tahon? He was 900 before he slept. 125 was still a child. 

An’nas turned so he was facing his husband. His hands rested on the duelist’s shoulders. Hurt, sadness swirled around their bond, behind An’nas’s ears. Tahon, use to the other’s weird probing magic, let him poke around as his throat struggled to form words. 

Of course, the storm centered around Solas and Banal. An’nas would be thoroughly surprised when his father wasn’t the cause of distress. Solas’ contribution to the shit storm mostly swirled around despair. A hopeless feeling of being unwanted sprang to life in his chest. Doubt and confusion added wind and lightning. 

He had nothing to compare that feeling, that doubt of someone’s love, to. Well, he did, sorta. He remembered very clearly, Banal saying he had no sons, in the coldest, most detached voice. At the time, the words stung like wyvern venom, even their memory, lessened by the apology he had gotten later, stung. But, somehow, he knew for Tahon it not only stung, it eviscerated him. 

An’nas put his arms around Tahon’s neck, hugging him close. The arms around him tightened as a choked sob got muffled in the crook of his throat. “He didn’t even come back for my coronation or when my apprenticeship ended or…” Tahon’s voice was garbed by him talking into An’nas’s collar. The bard rubbed his cheek against his hair, pulling him closer. “I kept thinking: he’ll come back, he has to come back, he can’t just leave me.” 

A shudder shook the duelist’s frame after a few minutes of trying to calm it all down. An’nas kept quiet, pulling his fingers through Tahon’s ponytail absently. Slowly the song quieted. It didn’t disappear, that would take a lot more work, but it was quieter. Tahon let out a shaky breath. 

“Damn you and your weird magic,” He chuckled with very little mirth. An’nas snorted. He didn’t use any magic to coax out the feelings, but he let his husband try to save whatever dignity he wanted. Tahon straightened to look at An’nas. “ _Ar lath ma_.” He mumbled as he kissed his lips. 

“I hope so because you are stuck with me,” the bard smirked. “I’m not going anywhere.” Their foreheads touched as they leaned together. Something was still bothering the duelist. Something revolving around Banal…and An’nas had a pretty good idea what it was. The emotion was doubt, fear. 

“Let me guess your father said something about mine and placed that little seed of doubt in your head?” An’nas stated very simply as he rubbed their noses together. His thumbs smoothed away the tear tracks on his cheeks. Tahon’s eyes flickered down. Damn the stupid shadow magic... 

“It’s just…your father has every reason to hate me---“ 

“He doesn’t hate you,” An’nas leaned back to roll his eyes, “he hates everyone for just breathing.” Tahon chuckled until he heard a very distinct chuckle behind him. His spine went rigid. 

“It’s true; I wake up in the morning and the sun’s shining and I just think to myself: By the Void someone out there, right now, is breathing my air…and I just want to punch them.” Banal laughed to himself. Tahon slowly turned his head looking like a puppy who just chewed up something expensive and expects a swatting. “Oh don’t mind me, continue with your touching moment.” 

An’nas stuck his tongue out, but remained wrapped around Tahon. Still he was glad his father had decided to show up. “So what about my father?” An’nas probed. 

Tahon looked between the two, a mix of pain and fear on his face. Neither of the Lavellans moved, just waited with all the patience of a high dragon. “I-I know you didn’t pick me for your…” he waved vaguely around, “whatever it is we are. Not like Sula or Sama. So…” 

“Why did I let you live? Let alone stay at my Temple?” Banal finished easily. He smirked and certain gleam in his eye. “What can I say? Maybe you grew on me. Maybe, for some strange reason, you love my son and the Void-knows he’s a difficult one to handle,” An’nas glared though his father only snorted at him, “and I’ll take what I can get.” 

An’nas rolled his eyes. “Love you too, Papae.” Tahon, however, was slowly starting to smile again. 

***** 

Banal sighed loudly to himself as he trudged up the stairs. He was starting to hate Tarasyl’an. No matter where he went today, there was someone with a crisis. Vivienne needed a Snowy Wyvern heart, Sera wanted a march through some Orlesian place, Leliana had received a message from the dead Divine, Tevinter and Nevarra wanted a cult dealt with on their shared border… 

The list went on. After a few dozen nobles, all clamoring to be seen with him, he only got an hour of reprieve down at the training circle before Josephine came with the Archon’s letter. Of course, that had to be dealt with right away. Allying with either country would sever and tie many relations. In the end, he chose Tevinter. Strange allies were his forte after all, and he could see far more advantages to having the Archon his ally than the King of Nevarra. 

Then came Vhena’s training, which lasted until dinner. She was getting better, but not to the point where he was happy to let her go fight a dragon by herself. 

At dinner, Samahlnan and Rithara had subtly reminded him of something. If he was converting the calendars correctly, Vhena and An’nas were approaching their birthday. Plus he suddenly felt older, meaning he wasn’t wrong about it, which meant he had to plan for that or at least get a gift. 

Even if he had other things to do, he had made it a point to at least bring a gift from some far-flung place for them. Sometimes he managed to stay the whole day with them, but mostly he had to be somewhere else, be it at Falon’Din’s temple or causing mayhem elsewhere. 

He sighed again. What the hell could he get them in this mundane era? Well Vhena liked shiny things so maybe jewelry? An’nas…for the Void’s sake he had no idea. A new lute? A book? 

He rubbed at his temples before pushing open his door. He turned around to close it, resting his forehead against the wood. Children were such a pain. 

“So,” Came from behind Banal, interrupting his thoughts. He jumped a little and turned. Dorian sat on the top step to the Inquisitor’s rooms. A lurid smile was playing around his lips, a not too noticeable bulge in the front of his trousers; aaaaand there went any thought about anyone but the human. “Any aches or pains today?” The elf blinked as he leaned against the wall. He watched the human with the eyes of a cat. His markings flickered at the lust surrounding the human. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” Banal gave. “Any particular reason why you ask?” He smirked as though he already knew. Dorian stood up and languidly came down the stairs. 

“I was just wanting to collect your debt.” The human pressed the elf against the wall. Banal rested his head back as Dorian put his hands on either side of it, completely at ease with being caught. Sometimes it was fun to be prey. 

“You must have thought about it a great deal.” He smirked, shifting his hips slightly. Dorian’s hips rocked forward in response. 

“I have a very good imagination.” The Altus shrugged. He captured the Inquisitor’s lips. A satisfied noise vibrated through his lips as the elf let the human enter his mouth. 

“So what did you have in mind?” Banal whispered between kisses. Dorian smirked, kissing him once before sliding his hand down his arm. 

“I was thinking we could try something new.” He grabbed his hand and pulled him forward. Banal followed, curious at the _shemlen’s_ thoughts. He was lead to the bed where a small box sat. He cocked an eyebrow. 

It was obviously Orlesian from the style, a box a store might put a purchase in, so it wasn’t expensive per say. 

“I’m going to assume the something new is in the box,” Banal looked over to find a mischievous smirk making Dorian’s eyes glitter. Whatever it was…Banal turned back to the box and clicked open the latch. 

He blinked at the contents. A light chuckle left his lips. “You want to tie me up?” He laughed, pulling two leather belts from the box. Their leather was soft to the touch, meant to tie around a bedpost or around a torso without harming the individual. A single red scarf also lay in the box. 

“I know we’ve discussed it before and I wanted to…put your stories to the test.” Dorian’s breath blew hot across Banal’s ear. A small shiver ran down his spine. The human pulled himself flush against his backside. 

“And how is this paying you back when I’m the one getting all the attention?” 

Dorian chuckled, “Trust me; I’m going to enjoy this.” 

Banal hummed as the Altus rubbed his clothed cock against him. “And the scarf?” The human snatched it and ran it across his eyes. “You devious little _shemlen_ ,” Banal laughed. He turned to face his lover, “Rules?” 

“It goes without saying, but if you want to stop at any time, you’ll use the safe word.” Banal snorted. He had yet to find something that made him want to stop. He had held the whip and had received the whip with no qualms. Granted, he never tried anything passed whips; but the fact was he could take light bondage like this. But he still nodded knowing this game well. 

“ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” He wrapped his arms around the human’s neck, rising so their hips slid together just right. “Shall we play?” His words whispered across Dorian’s lips. 

The human smirked. The elf would always play dirty, never truly forfeit his control save perhaps when he lost his mind to pleasure. “Strip,” was all he commanded. 

Banal’s lips tugged up with a smile. ‘Bossy little human,’ he thought amusedly. He rubbed their hips together, sliding his hands down off his shoulders. He took a few steps back, body languid like a lazy tomcat. He made sure he had Dorian’s rapt attention before he undid the buttons of his shirt one by one, slowly revealing his chest. 

Desire’s pink flickered through the markings. Banal shrugged out of the shirt, fabric pooling at his feet. Dorian’s eyes followed his every move; pleasure dilated his eyes. Banal moved a hand down his abs to the ties of his pants. 

“Tease,” Dorian chuckled as the elf slowly revealed his hips. Pink flowed freely through the marks that followed the lines of his hipbones, interrupted only by the blood red tattoo. They dared to go lower, but dodged the elf’s cock by centimeters and instead flowed down his legs. 

Still Dorian’s attention focused on the semi-hard flesh the elf revealed. With how many times they’ve had naked cuddling, he would’ve thought he’d be used to seeing no hair save a soft strip down the elf’s stomach. Yet here he was marveling at the lithe muscles without anything to block his view. 

In his rapture, Banal slid closer and deftly worked at the human’s buckles. As straps fell, Dorian managed to break away from his trance. He’d get all the views he could ever dream of and then some later. 

His hands wrapped around the elf’s wrists and tugged them away. His lips brushed against the elf’s. “Bed,” he whispered, eyes locked. Banal nipped at the human’s command but slid away. He crawled his way to the middle, pushing a few of the dozens of furs off. He sprawled on his back, watching the human lazily. 

He fought to keep himself calm, heart starting to beat a little fast in anticipation as the handcuffs came out. The metal buckles flashed in the light. He hadn’t played this sort of game in eons. Falon’Din had thought it distasteful for a slave and master, and any of the followers were just casual sex, which didn’t lend itself to the trust needed. 

But he did trust Dorian as odd as that sounded in his head. Oh he’d be tortured no doubt, dragged from his release many times, but eventually he’d get it. He wasn’t being tied up for just his captor. 

The human had very little problem moving Banal’s arms above his head and buckling them to the bed frame. The cold leather was soft, pressing hard enough to keep him there, but not hard enough to bruise without Banal pressing against them. He tugged a little to test how much slack he had. 

Dorian sat and watched, finger tracing the tattoos on his forearm. He waited for the safe word. The elf’s body tensed ever so slightly when he heard the click of the metal. But even as the elf rattled the straps, no words fell from him. He strained his neck to look at his bindings for a second before he relaxed into the bed again. 

“Good?” Dorian asked quietly, moving down the arm to brush against his neck. 

“Am I allowed to ask for a bit more touching and less worrying?” Banal quipped with a cocked eyebrow. Dorian laughed. He leaned over, careful to limit their contact, and seized those snarky lips. The elf sighed through his nose. 

Banal was at a disadvantage on his back and without his hands. Both of which Dorian was keen to use against him. He overpowered him easily, prying his lips open. Their tongues brushed for a brief second. Dorian sucked on the elf’s bottom lip, dragging teeth over it. A quiet, almost-sigh-like moan whispered into his mouth. Banal loved teeth, that little bit of pain to make the pleasure that much sharper. That much Dorian knew for a fact, but this was as much exploration as payback. 

He vaguely recalled stroking the elf’s ears, carding through his hair also brought the elf some level of pleasure. It relaxed him at least. 

Using one hand to hold him up, the other brushed over the tip of an elven ear back into his loose hair. The Inquisitor shivered. The bed shook a little as metal banged against the wood. Dorian glanced up, never breaking their kiss. The elf’s hands strained against their restraints, fingers clenching and unclenching. He straightened, trail of saliva breaking. Banal gave a whine, trying to get back what contact they had. 

But he stilled as Dorian shrugged out of his shirt. His pupils dilated, going from interested to let’s get this show on the road. His fingers fisted, nails biting into his palms as the human artfully untied his trousers. The cloth was kicked aside along with his boots. Dorian wore a wicked smirk as he gave himself a few hard strokes. Banal’s restraints hit the bed again. 

Dorian picked up the red scarf, playing with it in his hands. Banal licked his lips, steadying his heart rate as he looked up at the human’s eyes with a challenge; said human ran the cloth in absent patterns over his lover’s thighs. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he was teased. The cloth dipped, running over his cock. Banal hissed, toes curling slightly. His cock twitched at another pass. 

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” he grumbled. The cloth moved over his stomach, his chest. Dorian leaned over him again, filling his vision. 

“May I?” His breath fanned against his skin, hot against his cool skin. The marks flared once. 

“I’d be…” Banal’s voice cracked with lust, “disappointed if you didn’t.” The gravelly tone almost made his toes curl. 

Dorian smirked, “Can’t have that, can we?” He kissed the Inquisitor chastely before covering those bright eyes. 

Banal jumped slightly as the blindfold was tied. His world was just a dark red hued shadow, the silk smooth against his skin. One sense gone, his instincts kicked in. He took a deep breath, drawing on the other senses to shape his world. Fire crackling, filling the room with a sweet smoke fragrance, cool evening air blowing in from the open window, the musky scent Dorian always had underneath tones of leather and lightning strikes, all came to life, anchored him to the world. 

His skin felt every wave of air as the human shifted. Lightning seemed to dance along his collarbone as he traced the patterns there. Banal hummed pleasantly. Lips pressed against the sharp bone, a little suck let out a moan. Banal’s mouth snapped shut out of reflex. He felt the human’s frown even as he left. 

The bed shifted. Banal’s ears twitched catching tiny sounds of a drawer opening. Soft shifting noises echoed around him. When the drawer closed, the heat came back to him. A weight hovered just against his hips, warmth on either side of him. 

Lips pressed against his. Tongues tangled, hot sighs escaping in the few partings. Hands dragged through his hair. Small jolts of electricity shot through his scalp. He moaned, the sound filling the space between their mouths. Fingers stroked the shell of his ears. He shivered. Heat began to coil in his muscles. 

Knuckles brushed against his pulse as they travelled lower. Teeth dragged over his lip. Banal’s eyes fluttered closed as hands worked at his muscles. He groaned through his nose, body sinking into the bed. It rose in pitch as a nail dragged over his nipple. Dorian worried the elf’s lip between his teeth, forcing him to let his moans come out. 

The elf bucked his hips up unconsciously. Their cocks rubbed. Moans escaped them breathlessly. Banal did it again, seeking the friction. Dorian moaned, his hips meeting the elf’s out of instinct. 

Then he moved lower, hands pushing down on the elf’s hips. The man below him whined plaintively when he could no longer rut against something. His erection felt like it was pulsing, body both hot and cold. His skin: electrified as every nerve became keenly aware of his lover. 

“I’m so getting even for this,” Banal growled lowly, trying to arch his back. Dorian could only chuckle as he held him still. 

“For what exactly?” He purred, breath fanning over the elf’s quick pulse. His nose brushed along the underside of his jaw. A sharp nip shot to Banal’s cock even as a tongue lapped at it apologetically. 

“ _Isalan ma gara suin em_ ,” Banal moaned, brain going hazy. Dorian nipped, licked, and sucked relentlessly at the elf’s neck. Slowly, he headed south, over his collarbone to his chest. 

A finger traced his nipple absently, circles around the bud but never touching it. Banal gave another whine, turning his head to the side. He rubbed his cheek against the pillow, trying to pull his blindfold off. Apparently Dorian knew how to tie blindfolds, however. He nearly growled, as the urge to see became strong. Anything to stop the bombardment of sensations. 

His groan rumbled as lips surrounded his nipple. His back arched into the touch. A light suck came. Hot pleasure shot through him. The neglected bud was rolled between fingers. Heat coiled at the base of his cock. 

“ _Lathlin_ ,” Banal moaned, “ _vera em su tarasyl_.” Dorian’s tongue made another pass over his nipple before his mouth disappeared. 

Hot breath brushed against his ear. “Hmm? You seem to be asking for something,” Dorian purred. Banal swallowed, trying to work from the haze. It didn’t help the fingers barely caressing his abdomen. His mouth felt dry. “I wonder what it could be that you want…” 

A feather light touch brushed along the side of Banal’s shaft. His breath caught, eyes flying open to the darkness. The faintest of touches circled his head. He shuddered, “Fuck, yes.” 

Dorian formed a ring around the base. The flesh twitched at his touch. Slowly gliding up, his thumb pressed against the vein on the underside. A low moan came from the elf as his mind went white. His precum smeared around his head. His body jolted at a sudden zap of magic. His toes curled, abdomen coiling tighter. 

Fingers stroked him up and down. At the head, a bit more pressure against his vein left him breathless. Every slight change of pace, of pressure elicited moans increasing in volume. Banal didn’t know if he was squirming away from the touch or towards it. He just reached higher, muscles clenching as the edge came closer and closer… 

And then the touch was gone, replaced by chilled night air. His hips rolled, seeking something but came up empty. A whiff of lotuses came to his nose. His ears perked up, trying to catch some sound that would tell him what was going on. 

“Impatient aren’t we?” The human chuckled. He moved the elf’s legs farther apart. A cool wetness coated the fingers playing at the base of his leg. They teased lower, leaving fire in their path. 

“ _Garas, aman na’mis_ ,” whispered out of him. 

“What was that?” 

Banal growled in frustration, trying to move himself to get those fingers touching him again. “Fuck me,” he commanded when he couldn’t. 

“Well if that’s what you command.” 

Banal just about answered with a “shut up and suck,” but warmth wrapped around the head of his cock. Wet heat surrounded him. His breath left him in a gasp. A tongue teased his weeping slit, hand sliding lower to his balls. The oils heated up the more they were massaged into his skin; the cold air blowing against the rest of his body made the fire sharper. His hips rolled, trying to push Dorian into moving. 

A hand gripped his hips, a chuckle vibrating around him. Another groan slipped out. The human went down. The scrape of teeth sent shockwaves through him. His wrists strained against the leather. The need to grab and fuck himself into the human’s pretty mouth until he came grew stronger with every suck and lick. 

The hand playing with his balls dipped lower. Fingers teased his puckered hole. A moan vibrated around his cock. Fuck he wished he could see what the human was doing to himself. Thoughts stopped, however, as he was deep throated. 

“ _Fenedhis!_ ” he moaned, the word raising in octaves at the end as Dorian swallowed around him. If the human kept this up, Banal wouldn’t last much longer. As though sensing his thoughts, Dorian’s mouth left him. “No,” Banal hissed, fingers clenching like they could pull him back. 

His only answer was a kiss to the side of his throbbing cock. Lotuses once again permeated the air. A cold finger slid inside him moments later. 

“Oofhm!” the elf muttered. It was a strange feeling, a slight burn where he was invaded. His legs found themselves over Dorian’s shoulders. 

“Relax,” Dorian gave a small kiss to the inside of his knee, mustache tickling the skin. The elf flexed around his finger as he tried to tell that muscle to relax. Slowly the finger moved, small thrusts. Each movement made Banal tense, but moved him deeper inside. The digit probed inside him. 

Metal clasps banged against the wood; Banal’s body grew taut for a second, ass clenching as his prostate got tapped. Pleasure snaked through his veins as it was pressed again. White flashed through Banal’s mind. 

“Mmm,” slipped out as his muscles suddenly yielded. The finger pulled out and pushed back in with far more ease. Soon another entered. They massaged around the nerves. Every inhale turned to a keening moan, every exhale to a gravelly groan. Dorian waited for the muscles to relax again before slipping in a third digit. 

Even as his mind became just a white mist of pleasure, Banal wanted more. 

“ _Edhis_ ,” tumbled out his mouth. 

“Hmm?” Another hard press against his prostate made his mind go blank. Banal’s breathing turned erratic. He tried to work his mouth, but that’d become dry as his desert. 

“Cock-ah!” The word broke off as Dorian zapped him. Banal clamped down on his need to cum, body beginning to quiver. The fingers left him, making him feel empty. The bed shifted. His hips were pushed up and something pressed against his entrance. A few seconds crawled by, but the human did not move. “Please,” Banal bit out, knowing how the game worked. 

“Please what?” whispered above him. 

“ _Garas aman na’mis, lathlin_ ,” was all he could get his mouth to say. The words were pretty, flowing like a waterfall from the elf. Dorian, of course, could not understand a word, but he could guess. 

Banal’s body was tight as he pushed in. Not to the point it was painful, but enough to say he hadn’t been on the receiving end in a while. It burned where he was stretched, but fuck it felt good. Inch by inch he was filled until Dorian stopped. 

“Been awhile?” Dorian chuckled, thumbs rubbing his hipbones to help soothe. Banal groaned. 

“ _Tel’dirthara,_ ,” was his response, “ _Mana, lasa em sahl_.” The first part was easy to know what that meant; the elf had said it many times. The second part…well the human guessed. The elf shifted, suddenly yielding around Dorian. Banal’s teeth bit his lower lip, giving a small nod. 

At an agonizing pace, Dorian slid out. Lotuses danced around in the air before he slid back in. His hands gripped the elf’s hips to the point of bruising trying to keep a slow and steady pace. But the elf wasn’t playing fair. He clenched and unclenched around his head, fucked himself down on every thrust, doing anything he could to test Dorian’s control. 

And from the stuttering thrusts, he was succeeding at it. Banal gasped and moaned as each pass dragged over his prostate. His breathing came quick, keening noises falling from his lips as he was pushed to the edge again. 

“ _Pala em elvar’el_ ,” He managed as the edge was just out of reach. Dorian could only assume that meant faster or harder. He covered both. The bed rocked, hitting the wall occasionally. Their moans overpowered the fire’s crackle. Banal’s skin cooled beneath the human’s hands. The marks flashed in time with the thrusts, light starting low on his hips and spreading out. 

Banal’s muscles froze. His back arched, cock painting strips of white on his stomach. Pink flooded through his tattoos. Dorian rolled his hips. A groan left him as the elf’s body milked him to his own orgasm. His hands tightened as he held Banal still, filling the Inquisitor with his cum. 

The elf’s body shook, muscles all relaxing at once. He might as well have been flying, lying on clouds. He had asked to be taken to the sky, and he had received in full. He gave a plaintive grunt as Dorian pulled out with a slick pop. The human untangled himself, gently placing his legs back on the bed. The Altus moved to sit beside him. The cuffs came off first, arms falling limp. Red marked where they were, bruises no doubt forming. 

Banal’s eyes blinked lazily up at Dorian as he slid the scarf off. He tilted his chin up in invitation. He caught the small smile the man wore before their lips met. His lips were cold against Dorian’s, a bit clumsy. 

“Good?” Dorian breathed, pushing the strands of black that stuck to the elf’s forehead back. 

Banal chuckled lightly. He licked his lips, tasting himself as he worked his tongue around the foreign words, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to move anytime soon.” Well that was a compliment if Dorian had ever heard one. He kissed the tip of his nose before straightening. 

He grabbed one of the elf’s arms, massaging the muscles. He coaxed the blood back into them with tiny jolts of electricity and heated the soreness out. Banal gave a content sigh. The human looked at the red rings around his wrists. 

“Did I tie them too tight?” He asked. 

The elf only snorted lazily, shaking his head with half-open eyes. “Taking control is easy, but giving it…is far harder than I remembered.” 

“So that means this is a no then?” Dorian kissed his palm. Sure he liked being top, but he also liked lovers that didn’t have bruises because they weren’t comfortable. Some magisters got off on that, but Dorian didn’t. Call him strange. 

The hand he was holding tangled in his hair suddenly, and forcefully dragged him forward. It wasn’t a tight grip, nor really a powerful one, just a demanding one. 

Banal kissed him sloppily, lacking energy for finesse. “It means you are a little desire demon,” He chuckled against the human’s mouth before flopping back against the pillows. His body felt boneless, everything simultaneously on high alert and numb. It was blissful. 

Dorian smirked. Quietly he reached over to the end table for the cloth there. He placed their vial of lube there as well. Not that there was much left in there to spill. Still the fur they were on was quite ruined as it was, no need to add more damage. 

An ice spell wet the rag. He was gentle in washing the streaks of cum off the Inquisitor’s stomach; said elf was dozing off it seemed, not responding at all to the cold fabric. Odd, Dorian thought. Banal had always complained at the cold, yet…He remembered the elf’s skin becoming chilled the longer the game went on; the more the marks flared with desire’s pink fire, the colder his skin got. It could’ve been a manifestation of his magic, or were the marks to blame? 

The elf drew in a sharp breath as Dorian’s hand brushed against his cock. The human stilled, as Banal shifted. 

“Sensitive?” 

Banal opened one eye to look down his body at the human. “Well to be fair you did just torture me for who knows how long,” He smirked and winked. Dorian rolled his eyes, but carefully tended to his lover’s body. He lifted one of Banal’s legs up, massaging at his muscles while he checked to make sure he didn’t hurt the elf…aside from obvious bruising. 

The Inquisitor groaned when Dorian cleaned at the hole. “I won’t die from cum coming out of my ass, Dorian.” The human looked up, finding the elf watching him lazily. “And I have plenty of furs to take this one’s place.” The elf jerked his chin up as though to say come here. The human cleaned himself off, throwing the cloth somewhere behind him, and acquiesced. 

Normally this was when he left, leaving his lover to come back to himself alone. He had always left for his own rooms after their romps. Yet he found himself slowly kissing already kiss-swollen lips, fingers tentatively touching his jaw as though to hold him there. The elf was being different this time. 

“Will you be staying?” Banal asked quietly as they separated. Dorian wasn’t sure himself. He should leave to prevent more rumors flying around because Josephine caught them in the act…again. Or before the elf’s children came to wake up their father as they normally did. But he could also just stay until dawn which seemed far off. 

Silently the human lay down beside the elf, gathering him into his arms. With some effort, Banal turned towards him, laying his head down above the Altus’s heart. A lazy and content sigh escaped from his nose again. 

In his daze, he hardly noticed the fingers tracing the marks on his arm. The heart beneath him beat steadily, coaxing him further towards sleep. Each breath slowed, eyes growing heavier. 

“I’ve a question, if I may,” Dorian whispered in case the Inquisitor was already asleep. The elf rubbed his cheek against the smooth bronze skin beneath him. 

“Hmm?” He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t garble his words at this point. 

“I’ve been wondering about your markings…” Banal’s eyebrows furrowed, ears flicking back in distaste. “They seem to light up with emotions, but with your emotions or those around you?” The elf managed to lift his head up to stare at the human. Dorian only offered a small smile and a shrug, “They were quite beautiful a little bit ago so pardon me for being curious.” 

Banal sighed, “Both.” When the human gave a questioning look, he growled slightly. “They react to outside emotions if they are strong enough, but usually because I’m channeling them, making them mine. I’m slowly relearning how not to do that.” 

Dorian ran his fingers through the elf’s soft hair, thinking of the possibility. An’nas had said they were overly sensitive to outside emotions, hearing them and taking them in, which sometimes led to overloads and shadows. He shivered at the thought. 

Banal pecked the human’s chest before laying his head back down. “Any other strange questions?” 

The Altus shifted. One had been bugging him since they went to Banal’han. Through all the research he had read as an apprentice, memory spells were just myths. He and several other apprentices in the Circle had wished to use them for tests. After all, why study for tests when you could just glean the information from someone who had no social life? 

But all the texts (and there were quite a few) said it was impossible. The mind could not move that way, memories were far too complex, etcetera, etcetera. Yet Banal not only knew one, but also performed one on a dozen people at once. 

“How is it even possible to imprint memories onto people?” Dorian wondered aloud. Normally, Banal would wonder at such strange topics to be talking about as they slowly drifted towards sleep. This was, however, Dorian, the mage who loved to discuss magical theories on their walks or until the candles burnt away. 

So the elf thought a moment on how to explain the concept. “Are you talking about purposeful imprinting or accidental?” 

“Both. All the research I’ve read says memory spells are impossible without a great deal of blood.” And even then it was a fifty-fifty chance, Dorian thought bitterly. Those kinds of spells would sooner turn the receiver into a drooling vegetable. 

“Well accidental is easy. If one person is even slightly tense or resists, it becomes harder to smoothly imprint. Sort of like…penetrating without preparation or lube…so basically it’s like mind rape.” Well there was a pleasant thought. “Things get damaged, messed around with, and in the end no one walks away clean.” 

“You have such lovely metaphors, amatus,” Dorian snorted. 

“Well it’s accurate!” Banal defended, pressing closer as a breeze came in. Dorian shifted, pulling a few furs over them. “Safe imprinting is a delicate process. Both parties must be open, relaxed, allowing knowledge to flow freely between them. It is an act done out of great trust most of the time.” 

Dorian thought about that for a moment. It made some sense with what he could understand. Resisting spells that weren’t meant to cause harm usually caused harm to all involved. “And the Elders waking up? They just trusted whoever was attending them?” 

“No, the attendants were trained to not resist; they were relaxed, letting the Elder find what they wanted, and perhaps getting some of the Elder’s knowledge as a thank you.” He gave a small shrug. “Close friends would sometimes share memories as an act of trust. Elders shared their knowledge by either depositing it into a lexicon of sorts or imprinting it on a successor of sorts.” 

Dorian frowned. “So it was the ancient elven way of preserving knowledge?” 

“Yes, is that so strange?” Banal hummed, “You mortals are static, fixed. You can only think of things like knowledge as finite, tangible things. But knowledge is infinite and intangible; it can flow between people like water, be shared just as magic can.” 

The human made a half-agreeing noise. It was just so strange to think that there were people able to transpose memories onto other people. Did they even realize that the knowledge wasn’t there? Possibly not if Banal had been imprinted on and hadn’t realized it. 

“I was a rare case, _lathlin_ ,” Banal mumbled tiredly. The human had left his heart unguarded in this blissful quiet, letting the elf easily find the root of his sudden distress. “I had taken without asking. Thus, I took things I did not mean to like the Veil. Instinctual knowledge is tricky like that.” 

“How so?” 

“Well, you don’t really think about somethings…like there being a Veil or how to speak your native tongue. It’s just instinct or habit. I took Deshanna’s memory of language, of the history she knew. As such, things were linked. To her there was always a Veil, so her knowledge of history is one with a Veil. And there’s the whole barrier in my head that probably made it easier to cover things up deal.” He shrugged again. “It is very easy for these kind of spells to go wrong.” 

He heard Dorian’s skepticism even before he lifted his head to look at the human’s face. Dorian was frowning, staring up at the ceiling as he tugged through Banal’s hair. 

“Could other things be imprinted?” Fear crept up inside the human’s heart. 

A hand splayed over the organ as the Altus’s jaw was kissed gently. “Is this about what your father wished to do?” His heart gave a hard thump as the elf hit the nail on the head. He lifted his head, staring into the seemingly-glowing eyes of the dark elf. 

“If your spell works like that, then could…his have? Could yours work that way? Change people to that extent without them noticing?” Banal kissed his lips to stop his worried questions. 

“No,” He said very simply. 

“No?” 

“The memory spell cannot change who you are, just what you know. That part of you, Dorian, is in every part of your being and only an extremely powerful blood spell could change you on that level, and it wouldn’t be seamless.” He kissed the man again, “Besides, even if it could vaguely work that way, you might just be slightly more attracted to women.” Dorian frowned at the thought. The elf sighed still hearing that unrest. “Would experiencing the spell help?” 

The human blinked. “What?” Surely the elf did not ask if he wanted to try the spell that would change him. 

“I could show you the spell, if you wish. I wouldn’t imprint anything on you. I don’t know if your _shemlen_ mind could bend that way, but I could show you a memory so you might understand how it works?” Banal sat up a little more. 

On the one hand, the idea of experiencing this ancient spell thrilled him. On the other hand, it frightened him. Banal said that it is very easy to mess up, especially with people who don’t know the spell. 

“You just have to relax and let me control it,” the elf piped in. How was he doing that? Sensing his thoughts and feelings? It was strange. The elf smiled like he sensed that thought too. “You aren’t on guard right now.” 

Dorian narrowed his eyes, unsure of what he meant by that. “What would you do exactly?” 

“Simple, you relax, I show you a memory I have. You’d see it as though you were me, and perhaps see how it works firsthand.” 

“And nothing will be stuck in my head?” 

Banal chuckled at the paranoia. “The memory I have in mind might just leave you with a slightly better understanding of elvish, nothing more.” Dorian shifted, debating for a few minutes. 

“So how do we do this?” He finally asked. His body was tense as the elf moved to lay on top of him. Their foreheads rested against each other’s. 

“You can use the safe word at any time,” Banal whispered, “and when you are in the memory, I will be attuned to you. I will feel if you start coming to your own senses, and I will stop before you can harm yourself. Alright?” 

Dorian’s vision was just of green and red eyes. Flecks of yellows peppered the green, hints of orange around the red. They were hypnotic in their intensity. Power danced behind them, a certainty that had no equal in the human’s memory. 

“Alright,” he finally got out. The elf’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled and kissed him again. Hands cupped the human’s face as their foreheads touched again. 

“Close your eyes and relax,” Banal commanded. The backs of his fingers brushed the black hair back from his temples. The human’s muscles tensed as though waiting for a shock of electricity. “Shhh, relax, focus on my breathing, match it.” He calmed his breathing to a slow rhythm. 

The fire crackled as it began to die away. Outside the wind howled through the mountains. Everything was still. Dorian focused on the calmness of the world. He felt the elf’s chest press against his with every inhale, hot breath fanned between them with every exhale. Fingers combed through his hair soothingly. 

His muscles sank into the bed as he let out a sigh. He barely felt the zing of magic course through him when Banal reached out and touched his mind. The elf was patient, feeling the miniscule tensing. Dorian’s magic pushed against him, but found him as unyielding as the Void itself. 

Slowly, the human relaxed again. He had done this sort of thing before, letting another tap into his magic. Banal just felt…older. Vast like an underground lake that went for miles in the dark. It was strange to get all that from his magic. 

As Dorian pondered that weirdness, his world began to fade into black… 

***** 

_The first thing he knew: it was cold. A breeze blew against him. Water sprayed along his face. His ears twitched at tiny droplets._

 _The second thing he knew: he was underground, or perhaps in a chamber with high vaulted ceilings. There were plants growing around him, filling the air with an earthy scent rather than a musty one. The water trickled down to the left of him, echoing around the room. The noise distorted the other sounds of the room, but not all of them._

 _

That was when he learned the third thing: he was not alone. Small whispers tittered underneath the trickles of water. Feet stepped softly through an inch of water on stone floors. A sword swayed in its sheathe; an arrow was nocked upon a bow. His ears twitched again. 

Fear. Fear swirled around their hearts. They were afraid of what the chamber held. Blood, old decayed blood invaded the room’s tranquil scent, as they got closer. He counted the footsteps, keeping as still as possible. 

Five. There were five in the group. Pride cast subtle hues upon their hearts. Wonder and amazement fluttered through them. More of the chatter came. 

“What is this?” came from one. The noises meant little to him, merely strange sounds combined together. Another one replied in a similar tone. Their accent was foreign, not of any province he knew. 

“Look!” Shock drifted through their hearts. He felt amazement, the stares over his body. “It’s…” A third voice: dainty in tenor. 

“An elf.” 

“But what’s it doing here?” The second voice, deep and gruff like they had a gravel in their throat. 

“Perhaps another of the Clans lost him, buried him here with the ancestors.” 

The gibberish continued around him. The water stopped sprinkling his face. Warmth surrounded him. He tried to control his breathing, slow it down to a death-like state. “Hold a moment. He’s breathing.” A fourth voice: cracked like their voice just dropped. Well, there goes surprise, he thought bitterly. Slowly he opened his eyes. 

Four faces greeted his view of a crumbling ceiling. Streams of sunlight cut through the cracks made by roots. It dappled the faces around him. Features marked them as Elvhen, but where his people had sharp features primarily, these were muted. Vallaslin marred their skins more than any scar. 

What was strange was the combination of vallaslin. Andruil, Mythal, and Dirthamen weren’t people who would share slaves. Yet here they were, all staring down at him. Had they come to kill him? Did they learn of his identity? 

No. None of them had weapons drawn, save a greying one who stood at the entrance to this room. He sat up, startling the group. His eyebrows furrowed. Leathers and green metals decorated their bodies in an…interesting manner. Hunters might benefit from such a design, but it was clear these were no priests or guardians. 

“Who are you?” The youngest asked in their strange tongue. 

“Tell me where I am. What year is it?” He demanded. Their faces only showed confusion. He looked around, frustrated. 

“Is he speaking elvish?” One whispered. 

“Not any elvish I know.” The gravel-toned one shrugged. 

“The Keeper might know. She reads the old scrolls.” 

He began to get annoyed. What nonsense were they twittering on in? It was clunky, like banging syllables together as cymbals, harsh noises thrown together for the sole purpose of pissing him off. 

“Who are you?” He barked. His eyes narrowed. “Where am I?” 

“Weird accent, think he’s from one of the Antivian Clans?” 

His growl interrupted their chatter. His magic flared around him. Immediately they scrambled back. The air waivered from the heat, water sizzled. He tried to stand up. His movements where clunky, stiff from a long sleep. He moved through water it seemed. His magic was also bogged down, something between it and its source. 

“Fenedhis!” 

His head shot over to the one guarding the entrance. He knew that phrase. The accent was off, but he knew the word. So he spoke towards him, “Where am I?” 

“Garon, go get the Keeper,” The graying one barked. The child ran passed him. Could no one here understand him? How long was he asleep? He looked down at his clothes. Falon’Din’s black armor cloaked him. Ceremonial armor, he amended with a snort. The one used to bury people in. Gingerly he prodded his stomach, no stiffness or pain to be found. 

That sword went clear through him, yet he was fully healed. He must have slept for a long time. What had changed so drastically? What made his limbs heavy? His magic stiff? Then he noticed it: the silence. The world was silent. No songs of magic, no whispers of spells could be heard. No tingle of residue mana danced over his skin. No spirits floated around. Everything was just…dark and silent. 

He looked around the room, trying to find something that still held the songs. He found only dead stone. The world was dead. For once, he felt panic rise in his heart. Where had all the life gone? 

A subtle echo of magic brushed his senses. He snapped his head towards the entrance. A white haired elf stood with the child. Mythal’s branches marred their forehead in a soft blue. Steel gray eyes studied him from afar. Magic danced inside them, a soft song compared to his, but still loud in the deafness of the world. 

“Andran’atishan,” they spoke softly. He blinked. They said that when weapons were still drawn. He quirked an eyebrow, looking questioningly at the bow currently trained on him. The mage muttered something, pushing the bow down. 

“Mar enaste lan em lath’in’iseth, (Your grace warms my heart),” He grumbled sarcastically. All the eyes widened at him. The mage walked slowly up to him, holding a hand up to keep the others from jumping. They wore a more feminine armor set, but that meant very little to him. 

“Th’ea?” they asked softly. He frowned, insulted. He might have vallaslin, but he was far from a slave. They did not know him, thus he was not their friend. What did it matter to them anyway how he was? Anyone would know an Elder waking up from Uthenera would not be in a good mood when the attendants wouldn’t listen. 

“Tel’dirthara,” He growled back. They jumped from the venom held in his bark. His impatience grew the more he had to endure the silence. Fury built in his veins. Before any of them could blink, his hand pulled the mage closer, knocking their heads together. 

His magic easily overpowered theirs, seizing control of their mind. Attendants did not fight back as much, he noted absently. It was strange, they did not behave as a good keeper of the Elders. They did not smell of the balms; they struggled as he…Banal…he rooted through their head… 

The world became a tunnel, black swallowing it up on the edges of his vision. He was falling back…

_

***** 

Dorian’s eyes flew open, suddenly back in his own body. Eyes that would make a dragon envious stared down at him. Hands carded through his hair. Banal spoke something, but Dorian’s brain couldn’t comprehend it. It was a foreign tongue to him. 

“Hush, calm down,” the elf cooed. The human’s heart beat faster than an upbeat dance song. His breathing was panicked. Banal doubted Dorian could understand him; the act of sharing memories might not imprint things, but it did take a while for the mind to settle back into normalcy. “You’re fine, shhh,” he continued to murmur. He peppered light kisses over the Altus’s eyes and cheekbones. 

His lips brushed against Dorian’s, elbows resting on the human’s shoulders as he lay on top of him. Slowly Dorian calmed, muscles relaxing with a sigh. A hand covered his fingers wrapping around it as though to anchor him to the present. 

“That was…” Dorian breathed. Amazing, astounding, frightening, and marvelous all at once. His mind couldn’t form a word strong enough, nor one to convey everything he felt at once. 

The elf smirked in triumph, “Glad to have impressed.” 

“That was more than impressive, amatus,” Dorian kissed him gently. Even as the dream drifted away, he could recall pieces. He had been lucid, living the dream as though it were real. He remembered hearing the words he heard every day, but not understanding them. Yet when elvish was spoken, a language he knew but a few key phrases Banal liked to spit out, he understood it. 

However, as the dream became hazy, he could no longer remember what was spoken. He remembered the Dalish asking who he was, but little else. It was almost saddening that he could not keep it all. At the same time, it was obvious that he had not been imprinted on which was a relief. 

“So, is your curiosity sated for now?” Banal chuckled as he slid himself off Dorian. Cold air smacked his bare chest sending a shiver through him. He pulled the furs closer as the elf propped himself on his elbow. 

“For now,” Dorian answered with a smirk…which disappeared quickly as something dawned on him. They were speaking Tevene. Fluent Tevene. His eyebrows furrowed. How in the world could the elf know Tevene? Unless… 

“I was wondering when your mind would fully regain itself,” Banal snickered, “happened faster than I thought.” 

Dorian struggled to form any words passed his shock. The Inquisitor was speaking Tevene…which he learned…by absorbing Dorian’s knowledge of Tevene…He didn’t know whether to be amazed, frightened, or angry. 

Banal sensed all of them, ears flicking at the noises. He averted his eyes, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. He didn’t know if he could look ashamed anymore, but it was worth a shot. “I probably should’ve asked…” he mumbled. 

He understood that having people root around in your head without your knowledge was disconcerting. Them taking knowledge from you was very alarming. At the same time, the memory sharing spell was taxing on Dorian. The Altus might not feel it now, but it was like fighting a full-scale battle in complete heavy armor. 

Banal had struggled to keep him in the memory as long as he did. Dorian’s magic was…twitchy, used to being in control. It was nervous, a bit curious sure, but it was rather like trying to contain a two year old. Consequently, Banal had experience with not one, but two two year olds, so it wasn’t just a pretty metaphor. 

Anyway, Dorian’s magic would be sore tomorrow, or rather today. His muscles might also be lethargic, and he might develop a headache at some point (all common repercussions of another’s mind entering yours), but coming out of it, he was dazed and confused. Unsure of what was him, and what was the dream, his mind would have been spiraling. 

Banal doubted he understood common tongue until the moment he realized he was speaking Tevene. Tevene was his mother language; he would always revert to it when his mind struggled with functioning. Thus, Banal found it necessary to learn it. 

Beyond that, knowing another language allowed him options when the Inquisition turned on him. He just needed to learn Antivian from Josephine, Nevarran from Cassandra, and Orlesian from someone who was not Vivienne. He might even try to learn Qunlat from Bull. That’d be interesting. He’d just have to get the Qunari relaxed enough so nothing weird happened again. 

Dorian watched the Inquisitor. Orange shimmered along his skin, tinged with small flashes of blue. Strangely, he wasn’t as mad as he probably should’ve been. “Why did you decide on Tevene rather than learning how to read?” He asked. If it had been him, he’d chosen to learn how to read and write common tongue, not speak another language. 

Banal frowned. It was a good question. One he couldn’t come up with an answer. He could’ve gone with reading and writing, and Dorian would’ve just had to make do with common tongue. It might have soothed him still, but it might not have. 

It would’ve made Banal’s job easier, learning to read and write in one go. Plus, he wouldn’t have any need for their lessons any more. The thought of which made him frown deeper. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he rather liked their lessons. It was an excuse to be in each other’s company so to speak…Alright, he was going to stop thinking about it as his thoughts were descending down the slippery slope of romantic. 

“I suppose you’ll just have to teach me to read Tevene as well then,” Banal shrugged, evading the question adeptly. Dorian snorted, shaking his head. Wind blew in from the windows. The sky had begun to lighten, streaking the mountains with pinks and oranges. The coming day seemed to intrude upon their small bubble. Banal sat up. A flick of his wrist set the windows shuttering closed. 

“It is still early enough that most of the staff have not woken yet, if you wish to return to your quarters,” Banal whispered, staring out the window. His voice was deceptively neutral as though he said it was going to rain. 

Dorian frowned. It wasn’t like their relationship was a secret. He knew everyone knew where he went when he wasn’t in his room, in the library, or at dinner. Still, logically he knew he should go to avoid a bigger scandal than they already had. 

Then why did he feel like he was rooted to the spot? Sure, it was the first time they had sex in a while, but that should’ve told Dorian they were back to normal. There was nothing to worry about where they stood. Yet, he felt that if he left, the elf would disappear in a flash. 

Dorian reached out, never once sitting up (his muscles felt like they had ten-pound bricks tied to them for some reason). Only his fingertips could reach the elf’s back. Softly, they brushed over his spine. Magic lit under their touch, showing off their designs. 

The tattoos followed the lines of his body, keeping a similar design down his spine as he had on his throat. Dorian played idly, entranced by the colors. He swiped upwards towards the elf’s shoulders. Patches of unmarked skin lay where wings might form. Black filled the markings around the patches as though they were burned into him. 

Banal shivered at such a soft touch. It was one filled with fascination and wonder and not something he was used to. The lighter emotions…felt strange. Like a high-pitched whine just out of hearing range, they rang in his ears. 

“Did you hear me, _lathlin_?” Banal broke the trance, the fingers stilling. 

“Hmm, yes I heard you,” Dorian mumbled. “Do the colors represent certain emotions?” He asked suddenly. Banal turned to furrow his brow at the human. Dorian only offered him a lazy smile and a yawn. 

“Why?” Banal countered. Orange flickered through his marks, strikes of purple and sparks of green. 

“Just curious,” Dorian shrugged. His fingers resumed their wanderings, watching as pink followed them through the other colors. 

Banal watched or rather glared at him for a few minutes. What was everyone’s fascination with the damn markings? Elgar’nan, Dorian, he was pretty sure if he had them, Falon’Din would’ve been fascinated by them too! To Banal, they were a permanent reminder of how not right he was. Demon or spirit, it didn’t really matter much when it came to his blood; he could be either at any given time. 

“Yes, they mark an emotion or a general idea of one anyway,” He grumbled finally. He glanced back at the window. The human was wasting time. Did he want to get caught? Dorian always insisted they be discreet; no need to give Josephine more rumors to combat. Plus the Altus seemed adamant about avoiding “mutual domesticity” which the meaning of continued to elude Banal’s grasp of the common tongue. 

“Like?” Dorian probed. His hand gently curled around Banal’s wrist and tugged. Banal looked down at the hand in confusion, frowning. Dorian chuckled to himself. “ _Garas_ , amatus,” The Altus whispered. The elvish stopped Banal’s breathing. His eyes snapped to the human’s. Disbelief and worry swirled in his eyes like he wondered if he had imprinted something on accident. Dorian had learned the word after the thirtieth time the Inquisitor called it from the entrance of some ruin. He was certain his accent was atrocious, but the elf’s shocked face was indeed his end goal so he succeeded. 

Banal shifted closer, allowing himself to be pulled back down. He settled his head on the human’s chest, ear above Dorian’s heart. An arm wrapped around his shoulders, pushing him closer. 

“Better,” Dorian sighed. The breath tickled the Inquisitor’s ear. He growled, flicking it against the ticklish feeling. Dorian laughed, moving his hand up to brush along the shell. Again it flicked at the feather-light touch. 

“Quit it,” Banal grumbled, smacking his hand away. 

“Answer my question, and I’ll consider relenting,” Dorian brushed his thumb over the scars on Banal’s jaw. Strange how only two weeks ago those were bleeding, skin barely holding on. Now they appeared years old. 

Banal sighed loudly, purposefully blowing hot air across the human’s nipple. Dorian’s breath hitched. Let it never be said Banal didn’t even every score. “It’s hard to explain. They react to emotions, but only to the wrong ones…sort of.” 

“Wrong? How can an emotion be wrong?” Dorian chuckled. Banal groaned like a child being told to wake up. 

“Desire, pride, fear, feelings that can be wrong…” He couldn’t fully explain it. For him, it was normal this difference between emotions. Happiness, love, hope all had no color, or perhaps were all colors so they were white. Everything else had a color and things like pride, fear, even rage weren’t all bad all the time. A little pride was good otherwise despair and fear would cripple a person. Fear kept people alive, and kept morals in place, and so on. It was about finding the balance between the white and black emotions. He tried to articulate the difference, but it sounded ridiculous aloud. 

Dorian threw that around for a moment. It was no crazier than thinking he was sleeping with an ancient elven god or that an ancient darkspawn magister ripped a hole in the sky. “Desire is pink then,” Dorian stated, making said color light up along Banal’s neck. The elf hummed in agreement, slowly relaxing. “Anger…must have been that molten red color…” He recalled seeing it back during Erimond’s judgement. 

“Despair is purple, hate is blue, fear is green, yellow is envy, and pride is orange,” Banal listed idly. “Basically,” He amended. Mixed emotions like self-loathing or anxiety warranted two colors. Some would even have three. 

The human’s heart beat steadily under his ear. The gentle whispers of touch over his skin, the calm breathing tickling his ear began to coax him towards sleep. “Aren’t you going back to your room?” Even his voice sounded sleepy. 

Dorian’s lips pressed against the elf’s black hair. “Yours is far warmer,” he gave as an excuse. Even still, it was all the Inquisitor needed to curl closer, pressing against his side more firmly. “Unless you wish me to go…” 

Banal rubbed his cheek against Dorian’s skin much like a cat. The elf made some incoherent grumbled that might have been “stay”, but also might have been “you’re very warm,” too. 

Either way, Dorian smiled to himself as he followed the elf’s example and slipped back asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't do smut often, so be gentle. If you cannot tell, I do not like writing this stuff. It takes forever because I'm always afraid it's terrible and I'm pretty sure it is terrible and no amount of praise is going to change that I write terrible smut scenes...
> 
> Insert the gif of a particular pirate captain of a particular movie series shouting "Did everyone see that? Because I will not be doing this again!" For I will not be doing this again...lead ins yes, smut no. Maybe in another story, not this one. 
> 
> Also dad moments! My tiny children need to have some screen time with their dad so next chapter is family bonding time! Yay!
> 
> Big thank you to all you who comment. You are literally the only thing keeping this story alive. And quite possibly the only reason why I'm still alive myself. So thank you from the bottom of my tiny heart.


	28. Flowers and Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vhena and An'nas are turning one year older and Banal, like a good parent, has the perfect present.
> 
> Dragon hunting.
> 
> (Also some companion quests and pranks)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two notes:
> 
> 1) in case you are not aware (and I hope you are aware of it), but there is this...balcony rampart thing above the War Room (if you look up at the Inquisitor's tower from say the Mage tower, it's that thing). It sort of bugged me that I couldn't go there. So you know what? I fixed it with date time. ;)
> 
> 2) Not beta'd so if you see major errors (or would like to help out my other beta) place a comment below please. I've read this so many times I don't see words anymore.
> 
> 2 1/2) Thank you very much for reading/commenting/kudo-ing/being patient. Let me know what you think of Isen because honestly he's my favorite side character (don't tell the other side characters)

“Good morning, _Papae_!” cut through their sleep like the light suddenly shining in on them. “Good morning to you too, Dorian!” 

Banal groaned, squirming down so his face was covered by the furs. Dorian, however, grumbled, squinting his eyes against the sunlight. His head felt like someone had bashed him over the head with a chair and filled it with rocks. His eyes were covered in sand as he tried to clear his vision enough to figure out what was going on. 

“Vhena, go back to bed; it’s too early,” Banal growled as he listened to his daughter open the windows. 

She only laughed, “You’ve slept in long enough, _Papae_.” She stopped beside the bed. Dorian suddenly felt like he royally messed up. Mostly because the young elf had the biggest grin on her face as she attempted to get her father out from the covers. “You missed breakfast.” 

“Nonsense, the Inquisitor misses nothing.” Banal grumbled. He tightened his grip around Dorian’s torso. Vhena snorted a much cuter version of her father’s ‘you’re full of shit’ snort. When it was apparent Banal was not moving from his warm bubble, she rolled her eyes and went to his dresser. 

“Should I go fetch Dorian some clean clothes?” She asked as she began to open drawer after drawer. She made a puzzled noise. “ _Papae_? Where are your clothes?” 

That got Banal’s head to pop up and look over his shoulder at her. “What?” 

“Where are your clothes? They aren’t here. Are they being washed?” 

Banal watched her for a moment as she pulled out a drawer and held it upside down. His ears twitched. His eyes narrowed. Without him even thinking about, magic surged out of him. It glided over the drawer, picking up traces of touches. Vhena’s were black, warm and gentle. Banal’s were black, cold and harsh. Some servants were light touches, barely there like they were too skittish to touch anything. But there was a much brighter color there. Orange, warm and buzzing with energy he could barely understand what his magic felt. Sort of like listening to Sera talk—wait a minute. Sera. His eyes narrowed at the drawer as his magic fell back into him. 

“I’m going to skin me a Jenny,” he growled as he sat up. 

Vhena furrowed her eyebrows. “What did that poor donkey do to you? And how does skinning a donkey help find your clothes?” Dorian chuckled, trying not to be too loud, but he started laughing anyway. 

Banal looked at him apathetically before shaking his head. Dorian covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. “You have to admit no one has ever called Sera a donkey before.” 

Vhena’s eyes went wide. “What? How is she a jenny? Isn’t that what you call female donkeys?” She looked panicked, like she had just committed a great faux pau at an Orlesian party. Dorian laughed again. 

“Technically, yes. But she’s a part of a group called the Red Jennies,” he explained. 

“Why name yourself after a stubborn animal?” 

Banal snorted, “You know if you think about it like that, their name makes sense. Jackasses are notorious for being temperamental and messing around and not doing as they are told.” 

Dorian nodded slightly. “They also like to kick and bite.” He shook his head, to shake the image of a donkey with plaid pants and a bow. “Beside the point, but how do you know Sera is to blame for your…missing wardrobe?” 

Banal rolled his eyes. “Trust me I just know.” He looked at his bookcase. The Jenny might like pranks but it would take her a few centuries before she could outsmart him entirely. His eyes fell on a book of Antivan law near the top. Dust still coated it. Good. “Vhena, be a dear and go fetch Dorian some clothes.” 

Vhena narrowed her eyes at her father using the term “dear”. “And what about your clothes?” Even as she spoke she felt magic gathering. A book flew passed her. It smacked against Banal’s awaiting hand with a thick thud. “You’re not supposed to use magic!” She scolded. 

The Inquisitor could only roll his eyes. “The day I start listening to people’s instructions is the day Corypheus shows up in his knickers, dancing that weird Ferelden dance.” 

“The Remigold, I believe is what you are referring to, amatus.” Dorian piped in. 

“Sure that one.” Banal opened the book as though to find the proper Antivan punishment for stealing people’s clothes. The truth of the matter was a bit more anticlimactic. The thick book opened to a hollowed out section. A shirt and leggings were neatly rolled inside. 

“You…hid clothes…” Vhena started watching as her father pulled out the doeskin breeches. 

“Inside an Antivan law book?” Dorian finished. On the one hand, it was genius. Who would think to look inside a law book for clothes? On the other hand, who thought of such a thing occurring? 

Banal, however, smirked at them both. “Of course, the Orlesian law book left a strange perfume smell on them.” Vhena snorted as she chuckled, Dorian could only shake his head. “Now, if we are done wondering about my life choices, Dorian requires clothes and I’d like to bathe.” 

“Bathe…uh-huh,” Vhena snickered. Still she started for the door. “Oh,” she paused and spoke over her shoulder, “and Lotus says that since you are up to…strenuous activities he might let you start sparring again. He just wants to give one last check up, and no magic.” Then she skipped down the steps. 

“I swear I can’t do anything fun,” Banal grumbled as he glared at where his daughter was. 

“You wound me, amatus,” Dorian quipped, throwing an arm over his aching eyes. Banal snorted, looking over at the human. He leaned down and kissed his lips. 

“Different kind of fun, _lathlin_ ,” he whispered across Dorian’s face. “Headache?” 

Dorian sighed, sliding his arm up a tad. He looked up into nearly pure green eyes, the red so small this morning. He blinked. He didn’t think he had ever seen Banal’s eyes do that. “I think someone stuffed my head with rocks,” Dorian answered. “Your eyes are green today.” 

Banal cocked his head to the side. “They are always green,” he laughed. 

“You can barely see the red is what I meant.” Dorian rolled his eyes. Banal made a noise to show he heard. He brushed his knuckles across the human’s temples. 

“Is that so strange?” 

“Hmm, no.” Dorian relaxed back into the pillow as coldness began to seep off Banal’s fingers. He almost sighed as the elf massaged his temples. Then he just stopped and sat up. Dorian could have whimpered. 

“ _Garas_ , I wish to take a bath before my daughter comes to pester me.” Banal disentangled himself and got out of bed. He stretched, pulling any lingering stiffness from last night out. 

Dorian was quite content to just watch elf stretch like a cat. There was a subtle grace, an elegance to the elven body. They weren’t all muscles like the other men he had slept with, nor were they all bones like he had thought. They were willowy and lithe, a subtlety to their strength. 

Then he blinked, breaking himself from his admiring. There was not one mark on Banal’s skin. Not a bruise or red mark marred the pale gold skin tone. The shimmering tattoos were there, but nothing more. 

“You’re healing much more quickly…” Dorian noted. After all, it took him a few weeks to no longer have any trace of Adamant. Well, almost no trace, his face was still scarred after all. Banal looked over his shoulder as he grabbed his braid. He gave a mere shrug. 

“I grow stronger every day, just as my head grows clearer.” He began to undo the messy plaits. Soon, crimped waves flowed down his back, obscuring his backside from the human’s not-so subtle staring. “Hate to interrupt your admiring of my ass, but bath.” He smirked over his shoulder. 

Dorian groaned at the thought of getting up. His limbs felt like they were separate entities and his head were a ten pound brick. 

“Would you like me to carry you?” Banal joked as he walked around the bed. 

“You carry me?” Dorian scoffed. He could hardly imagine the elf packing him around like a princess; it was just too weird. 

Banal rolled his eyes, “Dorian, I can lift giant boulders to seal holes in the walls; I think I can manage a _shemlen_.” The human smiled as he snorted. With some effort, he got himself upright, though it only increased the throbbing of his head. 

“I think I can manage, if my head would cease trying to explode.” 

“Side effect of memory spells, hurt like a bitch the next day,” Banal explained as he waited. Dorian looked up at him, confused. “Well, what did you expect from being inside a mind that was not your own?” 

“I expected not to feel like I drank a whole tavern,” Dorian quipped. He swung his feet to the side, each motion as though through water. Banal watched to make sure the mage kept his feet before heading into his bathroom. A flick of the hand filled the tub with steaming water, he skipping the notion of ice altogether. 

Dorian blinked. Did he just combine an ice spell with a fire spell simultaneously? He stared, baffled, at the water as though it would tell him. Mages could keep a barrier, a glyph, and an offensive spell going at the same time, but never cast them at the same time. That would be like reciting a ballad and a limerick together. It just didn’t work. 

Banal seemed to notice his bafflement as he looked at the various bath salts everyone kept giving him. “Something interesting?” He found his favorites: orchid and one that smelt strangely like a sweet smoke. He sprinkled the salts liberally into the water, the scents filling the room instantly. 

“How did you do that?” Dorian asked, still looking at the water. 

“Do what?” 

“Conjure water—heated water—with a gesture?” Dorian looked up at the elf. The Inquisitor furrowed his eyebrows at the water. How did he do that? Ugh, explaining magic was like explaining breathing. Could Dorian explain how he blinked or his heart kept beating? 

“I…can’t quite explain it, really…I’ve always known how; I don’t think about it,” Banal gave an unsure reply. 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow, remembering very clearly the elf doing ice then fire to fill his bath before. “You never used it before.” 

Banal shifted uncomfortably on his feet. His head gave a sharp twinge behind his left eye. The longer he tried to think of when he learned that or how he did it, the more painful it became. He hissed, screwing his eyes shut as the pain felt like someone was ripping his eyeballs out. Hands cradled his face. 

“No need to give yourself a headache; it was just a question,” Dorian joked, though his stomach twisted a little as the elf lost color in his face. When Banal opened his eyes again, the red was back and he was panting slightly. 

“I think it was behind the memory block,” Banal mumbled, trying to get the pain down. Dorian ran his hands through his hair. The elf slowly began to relax again, leaning his head against Dorian’s. “Damn, you found my one weakness.” 

Dorian chuckled, “If only Cassandra had known in the beginning the quickest way to render you entirely docile was to pet you, I think you and her wouldn’t be in such a strange place.” 

Banal scoffed, but didn’t deny it. He was very content to just let the human continue running his fingers through his hair. 

“How do you even move your neck with this much hair?” Dorian gathered up all the black strands and held them in one hand. The weight was rather astonishing. 

“You get used to it,” Banal shrugged before stepping back. “We should really get in before it gets cold.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes; he doubted the Inquisitor would suffer a cold bath for anything. “Very well, you’ve twisted my arm.” Getting into the bath was hard with his limbs feeling like he had come out of deep sleep, but the water felt very nice against his stiff muscles. The elf who massaged something into them was an added bonus. He felt like he was melting like butter. 

A small knock came. “ _Papae_ , I’ll put Dorian’s clothes on the chair by the door; yours will be on the bed.” Vhena’s voice came muffled by the door. “I’ll be back up with breakfast in thirty minutes.” Banal rolled his eyes. “So impatient.” A giggle sounded before they heard her walk away. “Well I suppose we’d best hurry, if you want to avoid my daughter barging in on you.” 

Dorian frowned at the thought. Not on the top of his list of things he wanted to do. It was right up there with: Have parents walk in on you having sex with another man. That was awkward. 

“Oh and I doubt Vhena even thought to look for your _shemlen_ undergarments, so you might have to make do without.” Banal picked up his soap and began to clean his body even as his partner stared at him with furrowed eyebrows. “I’d thought by now you’d’ve figured out that Elvhen don’t wear…whatever it is you call those silk things.” 

Dorian had noticed Banal would skip that particular item of clothing. He just thought the elf was being a little tart. “Is there a particular reason why you don’t?” 

Without skipping a beat, the elf explained, “No point really. It would just take too long to put on in a hurry and our armors protect that area already, no need for an extra layer.” 

“Elves…are strange creatures,” Dorian concluded. 

Banal laughed, the sound echoing around the chamber. “You are just figuring that out?” 

***** 

Banal had just donned his trousers when Vhena came skipping up the steps with a tray of food. She smiled sweetly at him, reminding him of a fox rolling around on its back, tail wagging. “What did you do?” He asked, suspiciously, one eyebrow cocked. 

“Nothing. Why is it if I smile at you I’m automatically up to something?” Vhena chatted back. “Oh and we found your clothes…scattered about the rotunda and some in the stables. Sama, Zey, and Sula are gathering them now. Nehnlin burned the ones in the stable.” 

Banal sighed. He really hoped they weren’t his favorites and that he still had enough clothes to make a few outfits. “Sera really is going to live to regret this,” Banal growled. 

Vhena waved his comment away as she went to the table and sat the tray down. “I’ll make you new clothes, _Papae_ , ‘sides it’s just a bit of fun.” 

He watched her for a moment, “And do you not recall what happened when you and your brother decided to have a bit of fun with me?” Vhena’s spine straightened, her ears turning as red as her face. She wisely kept quiet, staring down at the floor. “Don’t start wars you don’t intend to finish, _da’vhenan_.” He spoke as he threw on his shirt and buttoned it. 

Dorian came out of the bathroom, dressed and his hair neatly combed once more. He looked between the two. He was tempted to ask why Vhena was cowering in embarrassment, but then again he didn’t want to add to the poor girl’s shame if he didn’t have to and left it at that. 

“There’s food if you want it since I apparently stole you from breakfast,” Banal motioned to the tray as he sat down on the loveseat. Vhena quickly pulled up her chair and got to work running an ancient looking comb through Banal’s hair. 

“Is this…is this how you usually start the morning?” Dorian asked in bewilderment. It was still so strange to watch as Banal sat calmly as his daughter played with his hair. The Inquisitor didn’t seem the type to sit still for anyone let alone for someone to style his hair. 

Banal shrugged, “She’s insisted upon doing this since she was small.” 

“I, at least, do more than just braid it,” Vhena stuck her tongue out at the back of his head before continuing to work a knot out the end. “Besides he has so much of it, brushing it would be a pain.” 

“That and children are meant to be a parent’s slaves.” Banal joked. 

“Oh har-de-har-har-har.” 

Dorian shook his head at the two as he took his seat. He filled his plate while Vhena began to weave black strands together in some elaborate design. “I heard some of your clothes found their way to the stables, amatus,” Dorian tried to hide his chuckle. He glanced over to see the elf glaring at him, which only made him smirk more. “What sort of punishment is worthy of soiling the Inquisitor’s clothes exactly?” 

“I have yet to make up my mind between thrown from the battlements and tormented for a month.” Banal replied smoothly. Dorian turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. Was he really thinking about killing her over a prank? Then he saw the corner of Banal’s mouth lift up in a tiny almost-not-there smirk. 

“And what kind of torment are we talking about? Your usual kind?” 

Banal laughed, “A child’s prank is hardly worth the effort that would take!” He relaxed after a moment. He tilted his chin up, a haughty smirk upon his lips. “No, I’m thinking our Jenny needs a lesson on proper mayhem.” 

Dorian didn’t think he liked that smirk. It was eerily similar to the one Banal sometimes had when they first met, one that delighted in chaos and madness. Yet there was a mischievous glint in his eye; strangely, Vhena often got that same sparkle. He briefly wondered if they knew that. 

“Just do try to keep the castle on the mountain,” Vhena joked as she finished braiding the top part of his head. She pulled another section back into a ponytail before braiding a few braids throughout the loose hair underneath. 

“And all your insides on the inside,” Dorian quipped. Banal mock-glared at him. 

“I’m not that fragile, Dorian. Pranks aren’t going to kill me.” 

“Yes, well, lack of mana isn’t supposed to kill you either, yet you somehow managed,” Dorian threw back as he ate a piece of bread. 

“Elvhen magic doesn’t work like your _shemlen_ magic,” Banal countered. “ Of course, you don’t die when your mana runs out, but you also live shorter lives too, so I guess it evens out.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes while Vhena laughed. 

“Lotus said that he wanted you to come see him for a final check up, then you can go knock some sense into your soldiers.” Vhena stood up. She walked over to the small box upon Banal’s dresser and removed a few items. Dorian watched. Wooden beads and intricate charms clacked as she moved, but he was more interested in the strange aura they gave off. Powerful wards and charms radiated from them, feeling oddly like Banal’s magic. Yet, they felt incomplete, like they were waiting for something else to be attached or they were never finished… 

Then there was a foreign warm magic intermingled with the charms. It, too, was powerful, but it felt nothing like Banal’s magic. This was warm and vibrant, energetic even. His was cool, dark, and calm. It was rather like fire and ice, the difference. Vhena began tying the strings of charms into Banal’s hair, some around the ponytail, others just in the loose strands. Dorian’s hair stood on end as a magical “sching” noise sounded around them, magic washing over the room. Strange feathers sprang to life from the charms whose runes glowed. The lights changed from turquoise to purple just as the feathers did. 

They hummed and put off a calming aura, feathers flickering and wavering like flames. Was that why Banal was so calm suddenly? How did he get a hold of such charms in the first place? Dorian knew of a few magisters who spent a fortune on such charms. Called mood charms for their ability to affect people’s emotions, they were in high demand for parties and assassinations alike. Parties because you wanted everyone to enjoy themselves, and assassinations because you wanted your target calm or perhaps depressed so it looked like a tragedy. 

The South had a ban on the charms though. No doubt they thought it blood magic or something like it. But then again it was similar, influencing other people’s emotions and all. Banal’s charms though, felt off. Dorian did not feel the calming effect come over him; he just got a sense that it was there. Then there was the fact that they only activated with Banal’s touch, like they were tied to him. Personal mood charms? “What are those exactly?” He asked, reaching over to pick up one strand. The lights dimmed and Dorian felt a small push come from the magics like it was trying to repel him. 

“Just old charms that help keep my magic in check, nothing special. “Banal shrugged, giving a vague answer. In truth, he didn’t remember where or how he got them, nor what their real purpose was for. He just knew they made the songs duller, save for the potent ones. The ones of mortal peril like Vhena’s tantrum or Cole’s panic were still loud as ever, but the small wrongs like not having eggs in the kitchens or the ever present fear of Corypheus were almost silenced. It made it much easier to concentrate. 

“Strange they seem like mood charms…” Dorian trailed off as Vhena tied a strip of fabric around Banal’s bicep. It was the warm magic he had felt. The deep royal blue glittered like fine Antivan silk brocade, gold threads lay hidden to give it that glinting. Little bells started to go off in his head. He had seen the other elves wear similar things, all with the same underlying magic pull… 

He retracted his hand as it hit him. That was how the Elvhen showed their marriages. For a second, all he could do is stare at the fabric. Funny how such a small and delicate thing hit him harder than a lightning bolt to the chest. He knew that it was stupid to get attached, yet he would admit that this hurt. A lot. It also pissed him off, which was even more stupid. He had no claim on the elf, obviously. 

Dorian adopted his neutral face, the one he put on for every family meeting before he got tired of it all. He pushed the swirling worry and the spiraling anger down as best he could. “I just remembered, I was supposed to meet Leliana this morning for that book I asked for.” He rose quickly and before either elf could ask him a single question, he was out the door. 

Banal stared at the stairs with narrowed eyes. For a brief moment, there was a crescendo of anger and something else, but it was muffled before he could decipher all of it. “That was odd…” 

“Something’s wrong…” was all Vhena could say as she furrowed her eyebrows. She felt that sudden change in mood, just as she heard the shrill noise behind her ears. Something upset the human. 

“Oh good I wasn’t the only one who noticed his sudden change in mood.” 

***** 

Banal appeared in the main hall not too long after that. Vhena had forced an apple into his hands before he could get out of his room. “You’re still on a solid food diet, so eat,” she had commanded. He rolled his eyes at the memory, but bit into the apple anyway. He swore his followers thought him a frail old man in need of care. 

As he chewed, he looked for Varric, not finding him at his usual spot. Great, he lost the dwarf. It was very difficult to spot a dwarf in a crowd of giant skirts and fluttering winter coats. He rose on his tiptoes trying to see if Varric was anywhere in the room. A scout seemed to notice him about ready to climb on the throne or pull a Nehnlin and jump up on the rafters. “Are you looking for someone, serah?” 

Banal barely glanced at the soldier. “Varric.” 

“I believe he went to the tavern with his notebook.” 

“ _Ma serannas_ ,” Banal barely got out before he was striding through the main hall towards the Herald’s Rest. It was a bit early to be drinking in his opinion…and he had very little social grace. 

As he passed through the courtyard he spied Cullen and Sera talking under a tree. He at first thought: what the hell could those two be talking about? Then he remembered the march he had Cullen arrange. Perhaps they were discussing its outcome. Then again he didn’t care what they were talking about. His eyes flickered up to the branches of the tree. 

Snow sat upon the boughs from the last good storm. He smirked. He began to head for the stairs up to the battlements they were near. Sure it was the long way to get to the tavern, but hey, for all they knew he was going to see the newly built mage tower. They hardly noticed him approaching. He smirked, gathering magic around him. As he grew closer he began to feign a sneeze. Just as he was passing by he let it out and the magic with it. 

Snow dumped over their heads just as they looked over at him. Sera’s mouth fell open, snow no doubt falling down her back and wherever there was holes in her shirt. He bit back a snicker as he blinked innocently at them. Cullen ran a hand through his hair, pushing the snow from it. 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t stand under a tree with snow on it,” Banal quipped as he trotted up the stairs. Sera’s eyes glared at his back, suspicious. 

“He didn’t just magic the snow…right?” She asked. 

“How should I know?” Cullen sighed back. 

“Well you were a Templar, don’t you have some sort of magic Templar sense that tingles when someone does magic?” 

“He sneezed, Sera.” 

“He could’ve sneezed magic all I’m sayin’.” All Banal heard after that was a loud sigh from the Commander and vague arguments. He chuckled to himself as he continued to the tavern. 

Cole’s head looked up at him as he entered, eyes hopeful. Fear still buzzed around the spirit noisily. Banal sighed. “No, it’s not here yet. Josephine assured me it will be here before the day ends.” The spirit nodded, the fear quieting a tad at his comforting. He darted down the stairs before Cole could try one of his therapy sessions he liked to do. 

Banal stood at the banister looking down at the tavern for the dwarf. He spotted him easily since this early in the day, the tavern was mostly empty. The missing dwarf was talking with Bull and the Chargers, scribbling in his little notebook. “You better not be thinking of putting this into a book, Varric. The last time you did that you got kidnapped by the Seeker, remember?” Banal called out as he leaned against the railing. 

Varric looked around before looking up. “Smiley! Finally got out of the evil magister’s clutches did you?” The dwarf fired back. 

Banal rolled his eyes. “I am kept by no one and released from nothing, _durgen’len_. The day they invent a cage that could hold me, the world will fall.” 

Varric pondered that a moment as the Chargers began to scatter. For some reason, a few of them gave him a strange look, mostly Dalish, Skinner, and Grim. The first two could have something to do with them being uneasy about Elvhen. Grim? He had no idea. 

“Considering current events, I don’t think you should make that promise, Smiley. Corypheus might just surprise you.” 

At that the Inquisitor laughed, “I hardly fear something that pest could think up. So far he’s been predictable. It’s just insulting at this point.” Varric chuckled as Banal made his way down the stairs to his seat. “So, I assume you asked me to meet you to discuss whatever it is you found in the mine?” 

Varric quickly lost all humor. A dull and bitter note sang from him. A note Banal knew well from court: betrayal. He sat down lightly and waited for the other to speak. 

“Yeah…well, we went to the mine and met Bianca inside. There were a lot of Carta crawling around, and a hole with darkspawn coming out,” Varric started. 

“I hope you killed and sealed before you left.” 

Varric waved a hand at his concern. “Like we were going to leave a Carta base and a darkspawn hole operational. Bandana and Crystals are…damn…when Crystals goes offensive, I thought she was going to collapse the whole damn outpost on us.” He gave a whistle at the memory. Rocks and fire flew everywhere, not caring if you were friend or foe. Luckily Nenara put up a shield and just let her mate bitch slap the darkspawn alpha back into the Void. It was simple after that. 

“And you were afraid she couldn’t fight because she was blind…” Banal scoffed. 

“Yeah, yeah. She hits harder than an ogre and has better directional skills than me,” Varric gave with a mock-bitter tone. “Anyway, we get there, kill some people, seal the hole, and find out Bianca was the leak all along—“ 

“Well I could’ve told you that.” The dwarf’s head snapped over to him in shock. “Her song was very agitated, guilt weighed heavy on her heart. If she wasn’t the leak, I would’ve joined the Chantry choir.” 

Now there’s an image, Varric thought. He imagined Smiley singing along with Sebastian and just got weirded out. Knowing Banal, he would flirt and otherwise make all the other Chantry folk uncomfortable. 

“You didn’t mention this because?” Varric probed. That would’ve been nice to know beforehand. He did have a feeling she was the leak, but he just didn’t want to believe it. Banal waited for the dwarf to come to that very conclusion. “I wouldn’t have believed it otherwise, right?” 

“Exactly so.” Banal gave a small smile. “In your defense, love is blind until it can no longer be.” That was something he understood well. After all, he had ignored things he shouldn’t have for the sake of love. And he got burned from it too. 

Varric sighed, “No, no I just don’t deal with…anything.” 

“Join the Avoidance Club, we would meet every Tuesday but we avoid it with alcohol and killing people for their stuff.” 

***** 

So one dwarf cheered up with the promise of a game of Wicked Grace, and now one Seeker to see. Banal rubbed his neck. He rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension he had from trying to get rid of the annoying song Varric had. He had never realized just how dark Varric’s heart could be; that dwarf held a lot of shit inside. 

From Bianca to his older brother that apparently is in an asylum, Varric had a lot of baggage that neither he nor Cole had picked up on. Perhaps he was better at coping with it than others and thus didn’t need extra help. Either that or the dwarf was good, extremely good at hiding it. Banal was going to go with the first option; it was less of a blow on his ego. 

He headed for the forge and Cassandra’s quarters above it. He had no idea why she wished to sleep in the weapon area, though then again it was a smart idea. Someone attacks and all she has to do is get downstairs and grab a sword. 

As he opened the door, Cullen was storming out. The Commander jumped when he came face to face with Banal, close enough to see an old faint scar across the elf’s neck. It looked like someone took an axe to him. For a brief moment, he wondered how Banal had lived, but quickly decided he didn’t want to know after Adamant. 

“Forgive me.” Cullen bowed slightly and brushed passed him. Banal’s ears twitched, a shiver running down his spine and not in a good way. There was a loud and painful song the Commander was singing. The tune was garbled from the lyrium he had once ingested, but still notable. 

“Why can’t anyone solve their own problems?” He asked quietly. He felt the tug start in his chest. He rubbed at it as he went inside. “What’s the problem with the Commander and what did you find that’s so important I have to come to you?” 

Cassandra sighed at his brisk tone. “Cullen asked that I recommend a replacement for him.” Banal quirked an eyebrow with a snort. Cassandra held up a hand to keep him from commenting. “I refused; it’s not necessary. Besides it would destroy him. He’s come so far.” 

Banal looked over his shoulder at the door. “Any particular reason why he wishes to quit?” 

“He has not told you—“ 

Banal turned back to look at her with apathetic eyes, “I haven’t exactly made it a point to speak with the Commander unless I have to; he did conspire to purge me after all.” 

“And you still cling to that excuse,” Cassandra frowned. 

“Shall I rip out your insides and replace them with fire and see if you are soon to forgive and forget?” Banal countered. She blinked. Was purging that painful? Of course most mages she had seen purged were given a sleeping draught, so that their abilities could be cut off quickly and cleanly. 

Cassandra sighed, “Mages have made their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to probe to himself—and anyone who would follow suit—that it’s possible.” 

“I…see…” was all Banal could offer. He had dealt with drugs before, not personally really, but Lotus. Getting through the first year of absence was perhaps the hardest; at times Lotus wanted to just end it all or just start doing it again, if only to make the cravings and withdrawals to stop. Then came emotional baggage, shame, grief, anger anything he had buried with drugs just bubbled up as the drugs went away. And most of the time, you could only be there for them, just be a rock for them to hold on to in the storm. 

“He **can** do this.” Cassandra stressed when she read Banal’s face as ‘oh no this is trouble’. “I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. Perhaps you could talk to him, decide if now is the time?” 

Banal looked off to the side. “Personally, I don’t think anything I say will change his mind, Cassandra.” She sighed before he could continue, “But…Lotus knows a thing or two about drug addiction…I can ask him to…I don’t know evaluate the Commander? Form a support group? Sing the Chant?” 

Cassandra snorted in amusement at the elf’s loss. “If you think that will help.” 

“Well, it might help more than me popping in and saying ‘Don’t do drugs!’” 

“Of that, I have no doubt.” 

“Now what was it you wanted with me?” Cassandra motioned for him to follow her up the stairs to her table. A large book sat upon it. The symbol of the Seekers, the great flaming eye he was so used to seeing by now, was etched into its cover with gleaming metal. 

“This tome has passed from Lord Seeker to Lord Seeker, since the Old Inquisition,” She began. “And now it falls to me.” 

“Dry reading, I take it?” Banal quipped as he leaned against the railing, waiting for this show to start. What was in there? The Seekers sacrificed bunnies? Mages were people too? Or a plot to burn the whole world? He had gotten the mission report that basically said the Lord Seeker (the real one, not the Envy clone) was bat shit crazy, allied with Corypheus and shoved red lyrium into Seekers to test their immunity. Thus, he was pretty sure whatever was in that tome was just more crazy. 

“On the contrary, it’s a delight. I’m riveted.” 

It took a moment for Banal’s brain to comprehend that the Seeker just made a joke. “Holy shit, someone call the Chantry, Cassandra just joked; we need this day put on the calendar.” She rolled her eyes. 

“What do you know of the Rite of Tranquility?” Cassandra asked as she took a seat. 

“You cut off a mage’s connection to the Fade, draining them of all emotion either because they are too weak or as a punishment in some cases.” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be used as a punishment. One of my jobs as a Seeker was to investigate such abuses—“ 

“Yeah, judging from Kirkwall, that went well.” 

For a moment, she wondered why she was even bothering to explain this to him. Banal would hardly ever listen to the other side of the story. He was a mage, one who had never knew the Chantry or the Circle. To him, they were just jailors and cages. Then she took a deep breath. He had helped Sulahn’mi become a Seeker, perhaps this would make sense to him more than anyone else. Even if she didn’t believe him to be ancient, he did have some wisdom to share and all she really wanted was someone to help clear her head. 

“I will admit that using Tranquility as a last resort has not always been the case…” 

Banal snorted. “And what? This tome suggests the Seekers used it as torture? Punishment?” He could tell something was bothering her about the book, but her damn Seeker training was getting in the way of him hearing it correctly. It was like listening to Cole. His brain froze a moment. Cassandra was human; Cole was a spirit… 

“What finally began the mage rebellion was a discovery the Rite of Tranquility could be reversed. The Lord Seeker at the time covered it up—harshly. There were deaths. It was dangerous knowledge; the shock of its discovery in addition to what happened at Kirkwall…” She paused, looking down at the book. “But it appears we’ve always known how to reverse the Rite. From the beginning.” 

Banal blinked for a moment. A little warning bell was ringing in his head. Cassandra had told him about the Vigil once, for some reason or another, but he had hardly listened. He remembered her being devoid of emotion though. His eyes went wide. She felt like a spirit, or sounded like a spirit in a human body anyway. 

“For the love of death and fucking decay,” He growled. “You guys get pissed when mages talk to spirits and yet you summon one to give you your powers and everything’s fine and dandy?” He pushed off the railing and sat down across from her. 

Cassandra blinked. How did he come to that conclusion so quickly. “How did you—“ 

“I may not have listened a lot, but I remember you saying you were devoid of all emotions during your Vigil and then suddenly bam! Prayers answered and you can burn lyrium inside people’s veins. Sounds like magic to me.” Not to mention people of this day and age weren’t connected to the Fade, thus not everyone had magic. A spirit was a direct link to the Fade people needed. 

“The Seekers did not share that secret. Not with me. Not the Chantry. Not even…” She trailed off. She stood up and walked to the window. “There’s more. Lucius was not wrong about the Order. I thought to rebuild the Seekers once this was over, but now…I’m not sure it deserves to be rebuilt.” 

Banal frowned. “Are you asking me if you should rebuild an Order of Mage Hunters?” He laughed. 

She whirled around, anger on her face at his bait. “The Seekers once protected the innocent, stamped out injustice before we hid in the shadows, guarding our secrets.” 

“That is not the Seekers I know.” Banal noted. “The ones I know are stubborn, brash, and would hardly ever take my advice.” He smirked as he described Cassandra. 

She snorted, catching his jibe at her. “Well, I am asking for it now. You are not what I pictured as Inquisitor, but I’ve learned that I know next to nothing.” 

“Well, if you are asking, I’ll tell you what I would do, and then you get to answer a question of mine. Deal?” 

She looked at him warily. “Depends on the question, I suppose.” 

“My you do know me so well,” Banal chuckled. “Don’t worry it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. My purging to be specific.” She licked her lips in thought. He wanted to purposefully bring up the thing he held over everyone’s heads? In civil conversation? What was he playing? “No tricks…I’m just trying to sort out somethings. Like why after so long the barrier in mind began to break down? How my powers got out of control? Things like that. So do we have a deal?” 

She weighed her options. She supposed it wasn’t a difficult request to fill and an opinion for an answer seemed fair. She curtly nodded. 

Banal leaned forward, elbow on the table as he laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them. “I would take the shattered remains of your Order and fix them. Nothing is so broken that it can’t be changed into something better. I mean look at me! I was hell bent on destroying you all and you went and turned me into…this.” He motioned towards himself. “Sometimes I’m still not sure who I see in the mirror each morning.” 

Cassandra couldn’t help but laugh at him. “So you think I should try to make the Seekers what we were meant to be?” 

Banal shrugged, “I’m merely telling you what I would do. Seems wasteful to throw away a perfectly good set of chess just because the board is warped and the pieces are somewhat lost.” 

“You know, that almost made sense.” Cassandra joked. Strange how his analogies once confused her. Perhaps between Cole and Banal, she was developing a metaphorical spirit. 

“Almost?” Banal pretended to offended. “That was a gorgeous metaphor I just wasted on a _shemlen’s_ problem, thank you very much.” 

“So what is that you want to know about the purging?” She asked as she sobered. She sat back down across from him. 

“What exactly happened? Not how you did it, but what happened?” Banal said with a suddenly very serious face. She shifted in her seat. That was not something she’d soon forget. 

“You mean you don’t remember?” 

He frowned at her. “I remember the feeling of being purged, and this pressure building up inside me. When it released, I flew back into the wall and blacked out.” Then he had his first memory of Elgar’nan. Well not first as in when he first met him, but the first time he remembered him. And his magic began to get more unstable as more memories came out. He had to believe everything was connected here. 

After all, he had full control of the Shadow before the purging, even if he did not remember having it. He could feed and listen to people’s hearts with ease. It was only after that everything started to shift. 

“The Anchor lit up,” Cassandra began slowly, “black seeped out of it. Your eyes…turned black and the shadow just…engulfed you almost like a shield. Then you…the shadow changed shape into this thing with wings…” She paused remembering that image haunting her. Her decision to let Banal even live weighed heavily on her. 

At the time Vivienne and Cullen agreed that he should at least be made Tranquil. He most certainly had a demon in him. Yet she could not say if it was a demon. It felt like his magic. Solely his, no demon attached. It was as though his magic defended him instinctively, but not like a demon defending itself. 

“And?” Banal’s voice snapped her out of her memories. She blinked before refocusing. 

“You pushed against the Templar and both of you flew back. His chest was collapsed and you had knocked yourself out. Cullen and Vivienne both demanded you be made Tranquil.” She shrugged. 

He quirked an eyebrow. It didn’t surprise him any. He would’ve thought a demon had done that too. What was surprising was Cassandra was not on that band wagon. “You did not?” 

She snorted, “I did not know what to think. It certainly seemed like you were possessed, and yet I felt no demon. That shadow just felt like your magic manifesting, rather than a demon being pressed out.” 

Banal looked over her shoulder to the window. What she described sounded like what had happened at Crestwood and again in the Fade. The Shadow came out, his Voided blood. Was that what cracked the barrier? Or was it the purging itself? He rubbed the back of his neck. 

Let’s say that the purging weakened the barrier that kept his memories and consequently his Shadow behind it. That forceful of a release theoretically could have broken through the barrier. Yet it only weakened it. Which told him that was some powerful spell, powerful enough to withstand his own Void magic bursting out. 

But nothing should’ve been able to not break…Void magic was very good at destruction, especially things that kept it from order and balance. He would think he would’ve instinctively dissolved the barrier. Yet he didn’t. Moreover, why block his memories of himself? Why block out all memories of him before he died? To him it seemed as though someone wanted him to forget his blood, forget his everything and become this…monster. 

Then again, the barrier only shattered when…Elgar’nan broke it. And he had apologized before he did it. So was he behind the barrier? Did he want him to forget himself? It seemed silly to think that since most of the time Elgar’nan would push him to be himself. 

So if he wasn’t meant to forget himself, then what was he meant to forget? Elgar’nan? Sulendys? 

Ugh, his head was starting to hurt. He rubbed at his temples. “My thanks, Cassandra. You might have given me more questions than answers, but thanks.” 

She watched him stand, warily. “You are welcome I suppose…” He began to walk away before she called out, “Inquisitor, may I ask you one last question?” Banal just stopped and waited. 

“I assume you mean other than that one?” 

Cassandra ignored him, “Sula said you had touched her hand and suddenly she could feel magic, like a Void opened up inside her. How did you do that?” Did he summon some spirit to touch her mind? Wouldn’t she have to be tranquil beforehand? 

Banal looked over his shoulder. “I honestly have no clue.” 

***** 

“Well, I’m not going to be the one to do it,” An’nas growled at Vhena. They stood side by side on the battlements overlooking the courtyard. Their father was at the training ring, watching people spar, sometimes barking out a correction like a general. From their understanding, the soldiers liked how the Inquisitor made sure to always check up on their training. They were honored by him teaching them. 

“What, are you that frightened of him?” Vhena countered. 

An’nas ground his teeth, hands tightening around his crossed arms. “Whenever I talk to him about anything important, we tend to start yelling, Vhen,” He hissed back. 

“That’s because you do it wrong.” 

“Yeah how? I started a conversation with him?” An’nas rolled his eyes. 

“No, you do this,” She motioned towards his being with an added magic shimmer to her fingers for effect. An’nas sneezed at the magic dust fluttering around his face. “Ever thought about talking to him about things like a normal person, not like you are talking to an incredibly stubborn child who could flatten you with a thought?” 

An’nas cocked an eyebrow, “You do realize when it comes to him and his problems, he **is** an incredibly stubborn child who could flatten everyone with a thought?” 

Vhena frowned. That was true, but there were ways to get even the stubbornest of children to talk. Like candy. “Maybe if we bake him a cake before talking?” 

“No, he’ll suspect we are up to something.” An’nas sighed. He glared at his father’s form. Why did he have to make things so difficult? If he could just be open about things, they wouldn’t have to brainstorm on ways to get him to crack open. “Why don’t we just get Varric or Dorian to do it? They certainly have a way with him.” 

“That’s cheating and doesn’t help when they don’t even understand he has a problem.” It was something only the twins could sense. Just below their father’s calm demeanor, his wondrous façade he made to say everything was okay, he was cracking. Something bit and tore at him like a nasty flea. 

It was rather uncomfortable to be around. Like a low and distant hum just below a threshold, it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Thus she wanted it gone. Her father should be silent as he was when she was young. Oh there were times he had a hurt she could hear, nothing this terrible. Everything was muted back then. 

Now it wasn’t. She could hear Banal throughout the keep. The urge to fix it grew strong in her heart to the point that she was about ready to sick Rithara or Lotus on him. Lotus must have taken some sort of psychology courses in school and Rithara knew a few mind spells to loosen Banal up. 

An’nas was just as tired as his sister of hearing that terrible noise come from his father. Not to mention how his left hand twitched whenever Banal was near, like it sensed something was off. The problem was how in the world could they get their father to admit he had a problem and tell them what it was? 

“He’s…conflicted,” came from behind them, breaking their chain of thought. The twins turned, not startled in the least by Cole’s sudden presence. Instead, they were curious, waiting for the spirit to join them on the battlement. 

“How so?” Vhena asked quietly. It was so hard to get inside her father’s head, figuratively speaking, what with all the barriers and masks he had cultivated. ‘A mask for every person,’ he used to say. A six thousand year old being certainly knew a lot of people and had, apparently, a mask for each one. Without the mind block, the number only seemed to grow. All she could sense was her father was troubled, and she couldn’t figure out how to help. 

Yet Cole could get inside his head, literally inside his head. He could tell more about their father than their father knew about himself. In truth, Vhena was a little jealous of the spirit. 

Cole messed with his gloves as he looked down at the Inquisitor. He was lighter, brighter since he came back from Adamant. Softer. But everything was still jumbled up, snakes slithering around. The white snake hid underneath them all, a little flash there or a small memory here coming through. 

“He is…happy he can remember,” Cole started, squinting at the Anchor’s brightness mingling with the elf’s own. “Nothing hurts when he thinks, no walls to hit. But passed that…memories flash, fleeting fragments of thought; a smell of grass, another memory settles, shaking the Shadow off.” 

An’nas quirked an eyebrow, “So he’s what? Annoyed?” He was sure the sarcasm flew over the spirit’s head, but his middle name was Sass. 

“No…yes…sort of?” Cole furrowed his brow, sorting through everything around him. “His mind is like a river after a flood; memories cloud the water, churning, changing. The mud, memories, settles, shifting slowly to silt.” 

Vhena rubbed her temples. Why did spirits have to talk so full of riddles? And alliterations? Next he was going to talk using assonance. She swore, if she ever met a spirit who talked in haiku, she was going to punch it in the face. Oh sure if she didn’t already have a migraine from listening to her father’s hurt, she probably wouldn’t have minded so much. 

An’nas, the bard and natural lover of poetry, had no problems with understanding Cole. “So basically, Papae’s memories are mucking up his head? They just keep popping in like unwanted guests at a feast?” 

The spirit nodded, “Yes.” 

“Well, if they’ve been blocked for millennia, best to let them be, let them settle on their own.” 

Vhena frowned. Leaving their father to sort out his huge, gigantic, disproportionate mess seemed cruel, like abandoning him in the middle of a flood. Even if Lotus said the memories (and the headaches) would eventually stop, it seemed wrong. 

“He’s afraid,” Cole’s voice became quiet, contemplative. He cocked his head to the side, hearing the wrong that was so subtle no one would have noticed it. “Tiny songs whisper behind my ears, a pull at my chest. Why is it so loud? What hurts? Focus on something else; the song dies away…” It wasn’t the song that frightened him. It wasn’t new…and he found uses for it. 

Cole delved deeper into the Inquisitor’s mind, seeing the sea of snakes once more. He found the one that bit and tore at Banal, slithering over the others. He grabbed it, moving along its body to the head where it bit the tail of another. The two black snakes writhed and wriggled as he tried to sort out what they were. No memories shined in their onyx scales, but hurt radiated from them. Wait a minute, Cole thought. Black. He blinked as he came back to the physical world. “The Shadow, he remembers the black, beast beneath his barriers. It calls and claws, commanding. How do I control it? Am I even me or am I it?” He trailed off. The song did not hurt; what made the song hurt. As Banal remembered Mahviiral, the Shadow became something wrong. It shifted, turning to fear like a young apprentice learning to make fire in his hands again. 

Vhena and An’nas shared a look. Control was something their father always had. To have it stripped away would be unbearable to him. 

“He’s afraid he isn’t really himself anymore?” Vhena prodded. To not know who you were was tragic. To not know who you are was frightening, especially to someone like her father who always knew who he was and what he wanted. Now, he must feel like he was lost at sea. 

Cole nodded, “I can help.” Even though, Banal had once told him not to mess around in his head so often. But now, memories didn’t hurt except when they forced themselves forward. The white outshone the black. 

He looked over at the twins. Vhena smiled at him while An’nas looked skeptical. “A good thing too because I have no idea on how to answer such philosophy.” The last word barely entered the air before Cole disappeared in a blink. 

***** 

The hair on the back of Banal’s neck stood on end. He paused, waiting for Cole to smoke into existence. For once, he was not annoyed by the feel. It wasn’t like he wanted the spirit’s help; he didn’t want anyone rooting around in his head anymore. Between the Nightmare, Envy and whoever decided it was a good idea to place a memory spell on him, he had reached his quota of mind fuckery. 

No, it was more like Banal had grown more patient. Cole was Compassion; if he sensed a wrong or hurt, he would seek to fix it. Banal couldn’t change that. Well he could, but Despair would be a downer and drink all the alcohol…or make everyone fall on their swords or something else rather drastic. 

Better to just let the spirit do as he pleased; less drama that way. 

So Banal leaned against the railing as he watched the soldiers go through their training. Cole stood beside him, quiet as a ghost. Banal doubted anyone but he could see their resident spirit right now. 

“You’re still you; you’re just all of you now,” Cole started with one of his classic cryptic lead ins. Banal turned away from the ring to face the spirit. 

“That…doesn’t make any sense, you know that I presume?” He raised an eyebrow as he crossed his arms. If he was a spirit, would he have to talk in cryptic remarks and _silriel_ or mind tricks? He hoped not. He couldn’t remember ever liking court jesters. 

Cole fidgeted with his gloves as he thought on how to fix this. Banal was always trickier to help; he couldn’t make him forget if he messed up. “You are Mahviiral and Banal, two halves made whole.” 

Banal watched the spirit closely. The problem with that theory was he still didn’t know which was which. Where did Mahviiral end and Banal begin? Were they even the same? He didn’t know. It was all jumbled together; he remembered Banal just as much as Mahviiral, but which was him? 

“Both,” Cole piped in, “You are them, black and white, nothing and tomorrow.” Banal frowned. This was starting to hurt his head again…like most things involving Cole. “Mahviiral was afraid of the Shadow; he caged it, balanced it with the Sun. Banal embraced it, became the Void to match the void where a Sun once was.” Banal rubbed at his chest that gave a strange pain. 

Cole stopped for a moment. The white snake flashed between the two snakes he had untangled. He stopped himself from grabbing it. Only pain came from it before. The blacks protected the white, so no black snakes, fewer bites the white could give. 

“So best of both worlds?” Banal grumbled. He just wanted to go back to the time where he didn’t have to deal with existential questions and his magic did what he wanted it to do. 

“You are you; you aren’t of two worlds.” Cole cocked his head to the side. Right, he was still literal. 

Banal sighed, “Sometimes it feels that way, Cole.” If what the notes he had hidden said was true, then somewhere in his line, a Corruption Spirit possessed someone and…fused with the host. It wasn’t hard to imagine biology being fucked up by that. What was hard to comprehend was if he was more spirit than Elvhen or the other way around. The notes said that the amount of spirit blood didn’t diminish each generation, that how much was inherited was dependent on the passer. 

Sulendys was more demon than elf, that much Banal knew without a doubt. He had fallen to the madness of the Void song. So what did that make Banal? He recalled his first six children, how they were…well demons. Literally. But then he also thought of Vhena and An’nas. They were far from demons. Thus, Banal felt pulled in five different directions. 

He let out another sigh, as another headache formed. He supposed it would do him no good to try and figure that shit out. It didn’t matter what name he used nor did it matter what he was; it changed very little about him after all. The only thing that changed was he had the full picture now, all of the book rather than a few chapters. Sure that also meant he could regret now, see actions he could’ve taken, but those were long out of his hands now. Just as who he was was. 

Cole’s shoulders relaxed as he felt the snakes that grappled each other dissolve. Their absence cleared the writhing mess. Tiny tendrils tangled together in their space, but none were fat. He could work those away slowly. 

Banal looked back at the training ring. Existential crisis over, he still didn’t know how to control his magic. It was stronger than ever, but even more unruly. It was like it wasn’t his. 

“You know how. You were afraid to use it when you were young and it hurt you. You tried to contain it, keep it locked inside. It doesn’t want to hurt you, but it doesn’t like chains. It’s like a spirit.” 

“Like a spirit?” 

“You tried to change it, make it more like everyone else’s, and it turned black, well blacker. Hotter. You are thinking too hard.” 

Confusion crept through Banal. Where had he heard that before? He remembered, a little tickling in the back of his mind, that someone had told him he was thinking too hard many times… 

“So I what? Start throwing Void fire around and hope I don’t rip open a Rift into something worse than the Fade?” Sounds like something he might have done before he knew that he could in fact use Void fire. Sadly, he grew a conscience. 

Cole thought for a moment. Magic was magic. It didn’t matter where it came from; it was still the same. It could do the same things. All that changed was how it was made. “You can still use the Fade, pull it to this side, but you are used to reaching farther. You pull harder to make it come through two Veils.” 

Banal narrowed his eyes at the spirit. “So that’s why I put too much behind spells? I pull from the Void?” 

“Yes. It’s…like breathing to you, finding fire that is ice, making it exist here is just you. It just takes a bit more to make real. The Fade is trickier, looser. What once tied you to it is a fragment of a thread, an ember of a sun, but it’s still there. Enough that you dream still.” 

Banal leaned back on one foot. If using the Void as a magic source meant he used more energy to cast a spell, it would explain why he would get backlash when he tried to lessen the amount of magic. So the question was: how did he start using the Fade again? 

“The Anchor helps tie you there, pull from it, less veils to pass. Maybe.” Banal cocked an eyebrow. That was surprisingly simple. He turned over his palm to look at the green mark. 

“And fire becomes fire.” The Anchor flashed once as Banal reached out to it. Like a tunnel, he felt the magic inside him run through and hook onto something. Flames licked his fingers, blue and bright. Slowly they shifted to orange, then green, then pink, and back to blue. 

A small warmth leaked into his chest; the thread of magic locked tight, anchored by something. Banal closed his hand, flames dying out. He looked up at Cole. “For once, you were straight forward. _Ma serannas_.” 

It might take some time before he could conjure Fade magic without much of a thought, but he’d get there. Now he just needed to make sure his body was up to wait. 

***** 

Banal returned to the main hall, looking around for a suitable punching dummy. He supposed he could fight Cullen, but that seemed to be a bad idea given the state of the Commander’s mind. No, he had his fun with the human this morning; now it was time for another victim of Banal’s special brand of vengeance. 

Sera, of course, was nowhere near all these frilly skirts…A small smirk graced his lips as he thought of another retaliation. He filed the thought away as his eyes fell upon An’nas and Tahon chatting to a scholar from the University. He recalled a certain son-in-law that had made one too many jokes about his age. 

“Tahon!” Banal’s voice carried over the clatter of the main hall. All heads turned to him as he strutted over to the trio with his signature malicious grin on his face. His eyes gleamed with mischief. Tahon automatically stiffened. The old man hardly ever barked people’s names without something terrible on his mind. Plus the grin unsettled him. 

The moment Banal was close enough, his hand grabbed a fistful of Tahon’s surcoat and pulled the duelist along with him as he headed for the door. “I need to borrow you for a few hours,” Banal said in perfectly innocent tone. 

“Uh…what for?” Tahon asked as he tripped over his legs a few times. Everyone watched in wonder as An’nas trotted after them. 

“Why are you stealing my husband?” An’nas asked as they started done the stairs. For some reason, he didn’t think his father had good intentions. Call him crazy. 

“Oh just some fun family bonding,” Banal waved away their concerns. Tahon furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t think “family bonding” was in the dark elf’s vocabulary. At least not together. When they arrived at the training grounds, the few Elvhen who were training with the humans stopped to look at them. 

Sulahn’mi, Arvaan, and Nenara all blinked at them. “Have you come to spar, my lord?” Sula asked quietly as she noticed how Tahon’s face drained of color. Banal all but threw him into an open dirt area. “I would be happy—“ 

“No, Tahon has already graciously agreed to be my sparring partner for the day,” Banal spoke with a grin that was in no way friendly. Tahon stuttered a tad as he tried to think of some way out of what would surely be his death. Nenara and Arvaan laughed at his frightened face. 

“Is this about me calling you old man all the time? Because I’ll stop!” Tahon tried just as An’nas sighed, “This is what you get for antagonizing him.” 

Banal blinked innocently like that this wasn’t payback for his comment the other day. “Why, whatever do you mean?” He batted his eyelashes. Now they knew where Vhena got it from. “This is just a friendly sparring match between father and son.” 

An’nas cocked an eyebrow at his father, crossing his arms. “Uh-huh. Just try to leave enough of him left that I still have a husband, _Papae_ ; I’m not done with him yet.” He knew better than to try to get his mate out of his own grave. Tahon whimpered. This is how he was going to die. 

“Fret not, your puppy will be **entirely** unharmed.” Banal began to shake loose his ponytail before quickly braiding it again. The feathers from the charms merely disappeared and reappeared in places that weren’t at odd angles. He undid the buttons of his shirt and laid it over a training dummy nearby. 

Tahon sighed and took off his fur lined coat since around Skyhold he wore no shirt underneath. He handed it to An’nas. “Rules for this…” He struggled to find a word. Execution? Humiliation? 

“Family bonding?” Banal gave cheerfully as a crowd began to gather. Apparently the Inquisitor sparring was a big deal around here. Maybe they just wished to see how there was no sign of Adamant on his body save the facial scars? Or they saw how the tattoos glimmered in the sunlight, giving him the illusion of being made out of crystal? Or they just liked watching him fight? 

Whatever the case was, even Solas came out to watch, though his reason was because no matter how estranged his son was, he was still his son. And damn if he was going to let Banal beat the poor child to a pulp. 

Tahon snorted, “Yeah, sure.” 

Banal thought a moment. Lotus took that time to shove his way forward. “No magic.” The healer barked out, glaring right at Banal. The Inquisitor merely rolled his eyes. “And no breaking bones, or other injuries. I don’t care if you split each other’s lips or give black eyes, but if someone breaks something, they get to heal by themselves. Got it?” 

“What are you that tired of healing the old man?” Tahon joked. Banal cocked an eyebrow, his grin just getting more sinister. An’nas smacked his forehead. 

The Lotusmaker snorted, “Something like that. But seriously, Banal, no magic, no until you get more control.” That made Banal frown deeply. How was he supposed to gain control of his magic without practice? He quickly weighed his options. He could agree and then just **accidently** let loose some magic. Of course it could backlash on him, and he was tired of being black and blue. 

On the other hand, he could agree and just practice in secret. Maybe at the Temple? Or see if Cole could do weird spirit things to help? That seemed to be his best option so he begrudgingly nodded his head. 

“Good.” The healer stepped back to stand beside his pupil with arms crossed. Soon the spectators made a large sparring area, giving the fighters ample room to move around. Just to be safe, Nenara and Samahlnan encased the area with a barrier to help ensure neither of them could fly into the crowd. 

Banal rolled his shoulders. Tahon cracked his neck. While he shifted into a fighting stance, hands in front of his face, Banal stood just as relaxed as ever. There was just the slightest shift in his stance, a slight tensing of the muscles. 

Tahon knew that the old man would never make the first move, he was far too patient, an assassin to his core. Thus the first attack seemed to be his to make. Joys. He frowned as he tried to think of how just to fight his opponent. Banal was smaller than him, which was both a blessing and a curse. 

Blessing because unless he used magic there were certain things like leverage he couldn’t use. Curse because it also meant Tahon would have a harder time knocking him down. Not that any of that mattered when you were trying to take down a six thousand year old being. 

Oh well, what’s the worst that can happen? He decided he’d just see how things went and figure out how exactly the old man fought hand-to-hand. Tahon rushed Banal. In a blink of an eye, he was within striking distance. As he swung his fist, Banal ducked into his guard. Using his own momentum, Banal threw Tahon across his shoulders and flipped him onto the ground. The duelist’s back hit the dirt. He groaned loudly, looking up at the sky. 

Banal leaned over him, “What’s wrong, puppy? Can’t beat an old man?” He mocked. Tahon glared and tried to kick out Banal’s knees. The Inquisitor danced back. He could capitalize on Tahon’s prone state, but instead opted to let the duelist kick himself up and dust himself off. 

Tahon rubbed his shoulder, puffing out some air in frustration. So that told him nothing other than the old man had some reflexes. Banal smirked and waited patiently for the next attack. This time Tahon got within range, but didn’t try to strike. Instead he kept his hands up in defense, bouncing from foot to foot as they began to circle. 

His hand struck out. Fingers locked around his wrist. Another hand went behind his bicep. Tahon spun, his stance broken as Banal arm dragged him. A hand shoved into his face. Pain shot up his nose; a finger pushed up from underneath it. His neck craned back. His body turned again. And he dropped to the ground. Banal faked a stomp to his neck that would’ve surely killed someone. 

“Are you even tryin—“ Tahon tangled their legs. He tried to pull him down. Banal just rolled through. He twisted around languidly, as though his body was water. Tahon ended up in the leg lock. Banal released quickly and rolled backwards. Tahon got to his feet. No sooner did he become upright than he was lying flat on his back again, a blow knocking the air from him. 

The fight continued in earnest. Tahon learned a few things very quickly. One was Banal’s style was to deflect, redirect, or otherwise use the body against his opponent. If Tahon tried to punch, Banal would redirect and perhaps grab ahold of his wrist and send him spiraling to the ground from just plain physics. He even would use his legs, often managing to take Tahon down before he even struck out. 

There was also a circular fluidity to his style. Meaning he would dodge and move around, one movement following the other. Also Banal, if he got control of you, would turn you from your center of gravity, putting you on the ground before you could blink. Granted Tahon was trained in fighting on the ground, but Banal’s takedowns would be lethal if he actually did them. Twisting their necks and crushing the larynx seemed to be a big part of his style. 

Another thing was Banal hit hard. So hard, you’d feel it go through you. Yet he never tensed a muscle to show when he was going to hit. And he hit fast, often multiple hits to weak points in rapid succession that would make people’s heads spin. His breathing hardly changed, save for a sharp exhale as he hit. 

That said, Tahon did manage to win a few rounds. Once with a feinted roundhouse kick. It didn’t knock the old man out, but it got him on the ground. A few other times were lucky hits while they were throwing and deflecting punches. One actually split Banal’s lip open. The old man just licked it and spat the blood out. 

That was the other thing. Banal could take hits; he of course dodged or deflected most of them, but the ones that hit? While Tahon was continually staggering back from blows, Banal seemed to absorb them. Or just flat out twist his body with the blow, making it more of a glancing strike. 

Spectators were having a ball though. The two of them were highly mobile and flexible, pulling off grapples no one thought would be possible. They fought with just as much acrobatics as actual hitting. 

Tahon was starting to breath heavy. Sweat shined over both of their chests, dripped down their faces. He wiped away the trickle of blood coming out his nose. Banal brushed a hand along his forehead, wiping off sweat. He looked down at his hand, finding a bit of blood there from a cut on his forehead. The puppy had some fight in him. 

The duelist approached, by now knowing that direct blows would only be dodged. Instead he threw a few punches, danced back. He threw a kick. All of which Banal blocked, throwing his own punches. Tahon narrowly missed one to his shoulder. He danced back, this time grappling with his shorter opponent. He didn’t try to press down on Banal; that would just lead to another flip. Instead he tried what Banal did: twist and throw. It actually managed to knock Banal to the ground. 

Banal smirked. Good show. He could do better. 

He rolled fluidly, one leg outstretched. It slipped behind Tahon’s knees, bringing him face down exactly where Banal used to be. In a flash, Banal had control of one of his arms, pinning it back and out. A pop sounded through Tahon as his shoulder was wrenched. 

“Match!” Lotus yelled. Banal let go and got to his feet. Tahon sat up, cradling his arm. An’nas glared at his father as he went to his bondmate’s side. 

“I could’ve still taken him,” Tahon grumbled. An’nas turned his frown to him. Lotus walked to Banal and tilted his head this way and that, looking at the cuts and scrapes on his face with a critical eye. 

“Uh-huh,” was all An’nas said as he popped Tahon’s shoulder back into place. Tahon yipped loudly, it ending in a low groan. 

Banal chuckled, “The day you beat me is the day I kiss your father.” He could just feel Solas glaring at him with a disapproving frown, his ears turning red. Tahon didn’t have to feel it. He saw it, the sheer look of disgust that went over Solas’s face at the thought of having to kiss the dark elf. He gave an uneasy laugh as the healers began to get rid of the cuts. They’d still have bruises, Tahon more than Banal, but at least the cuts would be healed. 

“I’m pretty sure my father doesn’t swing that way…” He tried to laugh it off. 

Banal, however, only smirked. “We were all young once.” He turned his grin to Solas. Sure the man may prefer women, but that doesn’t exclude him from experimenting now does it? He watched as Solas’s head started to turn red before he abruptly turned and went back to his tower. Banal only laughed at how easy it was to annoy the Dread Wolf. 

***** 

Banal sighed as he trudged up the stairs. He regretted ever letting Vhena tell Merrill he would be willing to do history lessons. It seemed a terrible idea; he was going to have to talk and be nice and answer questions…It just sounded like a chore like talking with Orlesian nobles. 

Still he went up to the library after cleaning himself up from his sparring. At one of the tables sat Vhena and Merrill, the two giggling at something. Vhena had insisted she be present to ‘temper his crude manners’. He snorted to himself. She just wanted to flirt. She would never admit it, but she was a shameless flirt like her father, and didn’t think said father knew it. 

Banal steeled himself as he approached the table. There was a pile of paper, some ink, and a quill near Merrill like this was some important lesson. Vhena noticed him first, turning to smile sweetly. 

“Papae! You finally made it! I was thinking I’d have to track you down!” She laughed. Merrill’s eyes widened, an excited glimmer in them. He internally winced. Why did he ever let Dorian talk him into this? He could see that excitement dwindling out like he stomped on. 

“If I wished to hide, _da’vhenan_ , you would not be able to find me,” He rolled his eyes as he took a seat. The Dalish seemed about ready to get up and dance from how she was squirming in place. 

“ _Ma Serannas, Hahren_ , for taking the time to talk to me,” Merrill managed to say without stuttering too much. The Inquisitor gave off this tangible aura of power that made your legs turn to jelly. And she thought Keeper Marethari’s withering gaze was terrible. Banal’s normal look made her feel small and insignificant, like she was just a speck in the sands of his time. 

“It is no trouble, _vherlan_. Tell me how goes restoring your _eluvian_?” Merrill’s eyebrows went up like she wasn’t expecting him to care. 

“Vhena and An’nas have been quite helpful in restoring it, _Hahren_. Vhena says it’s almost back to working condition.” The two girls smiled at each other, Merrill with a slight blush to her cheeks. Vhena seemed as pleased as a cat with cream. 

“I think whoever bound the demon inside of it had to break the connection to its pair completely. So I’m having trouble restoring that path.” Vhena turned her smile to her father. 

Banal snorted, “Of course they’d have to do that. Trapping a demon in an _eluvian_ would just make it so it could go to the Crossroads and jump from mirror to mirror.” He thought over what he knew of that mirror. Merrill said her Clan thought one of their hunters touched it and disappeared. From what he felt on the mirror, a demon corrupted it. The faint touches of Void on the glass told him it held something that shouldn’t have been here. “Retying the pair will take a great deal of time, you’d might have to cleanse it again so the other one doesn’t crack. Or alternatively, you turn it into one of the Black _Eluvians_.” 

Merrill tilted her head. “Black _Eluvians_? What are those?” 

“My father can’t use regular _eluvians_ , so he created his own: black ones,” Vhena explained softly. Never mind the power that it took to create one link, let alone an entire Crossroad. 

“But why can’t you use regular ones? What do _eluvians_ do? Or did I suppose?” Merrill sputtered out, tattoo wrinkling with her eyebrows. 

“They were like our roads, highways,” Banal picked the easiest question first, “you could travel the entire empire in a few minutes. Some _Eluvians_ connected directly to another, step into one you’re at the other.” He motioned with his hands as he talked. “Others would just take you to the…Crossroads, I suppose, and you’d have to find the one you wanted.” 

Merrill’s eyes grew huge. “I…That’s amazing! That’s why there are no elven roads!” 

Vhena laughed, “ _Shemlen_ roads are kind of an eyesore and terribly slow. Someday I’ll have to show you the Crossroads.” Banal cocked an eyebrow at that. His Crossroads wasn’t something you’d show off. Whereas the normal one was bright and colorful, his was rather dark and gloomy. He supposed he could change that, make it like his marsh again…But thoughts for another time. 

“As for why I can’t use ‘White _Eluvians_ ’,” he air quoted, “Elgar’nan placed a…,” he paused trying to think of the correct word. It wasn’t like a hex, nor a curse. The _Eluvians_ were just…told not to let him through, and if he did manage to get through a varterral usually showed up to kill him. He should know; he tried a few times. “I suppose you could call it a curse. I cannot pass through them without a great deal of power.” 

“You knew the Creators?!” Merrill nearly squealed, forgetting any thought of _Eluvians_. Banal winced at her loudness. “What were they like?! How did you know them?! Tell me everything!” Vhena chuckled at her adorable friend, a soft smile on her lips. Her father was less amused, however, and rubbed his temples. 

He could say a million things about the so-called Creators and none of them the Dalish would like. His frown deepened as he tried to think of how to put the truth so he didn’t crush her. He also cursed Dorian for talking him into this, again. “I’ll try to be unbiased,” he grumbled. “Who do you—“ 

“All of them!” Merrill excitedly interrupted. Her ears turned red as soon as her actions caught up with her. “ _Ir abelas, Hahren_ ; I didn’t mean to interrupt you. It’s just that we know so little of them, what they looked like…I’m babbling, aren’t I?” 

Vhena laughed, “It’s rather cute.” Merrill’s cheeks darkened when she glanced over at the white haired elf next to her. 

“Vhena, stop flirting,” Banal rolled his eyes. Vhena’s smile just grew. “Why don’t we start from the bottom up?” That way he could put off talking about all his least favorites just a bit longer. 

Merrill’s eyes quickly snapped back to him and she nodded quickly. He got the sense of an excited puppy. The twittering song of happiness and excitement echoed the feeling, like it was bouncing up and down. 

Banal looked to the side in thought. He sorted through the Enuvaris, trying to determine the best of the worst to focus on. “There was June. He was…an odd one, to say the least,” he started. “He was what you’d call Tranquil, I suppose. Emotionless, magic-less.” 

Merrill’s face fell instantly, looking horrified. Fear trickled into the song, lighting up his markings. “He had his magic stripped away? The Elvhen even thought of that punishment?” 

“No,” Banal said gently, “he willed it away.” When the fear left, confusion replaced it, so he kept on. “June was a brilliant smith, crafted masterpieces. He had developed this way to make the armor light and flexible, but still stand up to a golem’s fist. My own spear and armor were his crafts, though the latter came after he was Tranquil…” 

Merrill’s eyes stared intently on him as though he was some spirit of knowledge giving her the world. It was rather funny since it made him fidget uncomfortably and not too long ago he would’ve relished it. 

“So why did he give up his magic?” Vhena probed, just as interested in hearing her father talk about his old acquaintances as the young First. 

“Smithing…was kind of his religion, really. He studied with the _durgen’len_ for a time, came to learn their rune-crafting abilities. Yet that was something with all the magic in the world he could not do. Lyrium…” Banal paused, trying to think of how to explain it being a thing Elvhen did not touch because Titans really didn’t like them taking their blood… “well it wasn’t something we touched. Plus we didn’t really need it; no Veil meant magic was in the very air, so we hardly depleted our natural reserves.” 

Vhena puckered her lips in confusion while Merrill was looking like she was soaking every bit of this up. He noted she even wrote a few things down like she would be tested later. 

“But beings who had magic, why would they care for enchantments?” Merrill asked as she found she could speak passed her awe. 

Banal tapped his fingers absently as he tried to explain it. “To make our things that much better. Or out of laziness sometimes.” He shrugged. “Why bother heating the bath water yourself when you could throw a fire rune in the tub and have hot water all the time?” Merrill laughed like he had made a joke. He was being serious, but didn’t bother to point that out. 

“In our weapons and armor, the runes were more to channel our magic, like my own. My armor was crafted from a special type of crystal June often used in runes; it is great magic conductor and stores energy, thus my armor is harder than dragon bone, and can easily switch from a fire ward to an ice ward.” 

“So June wanted to craft runes, and became Tranquil? How do you even will yourself Tranquil?” Merrill asked. 

“Honestly, we haven’t the foggiest idea. He went on a century long pilgrimage, seeking that knowledge. When he came back, he was devoid of all emotion, could cast no spell, yet he could enchant with such a precision it was rather frightening.” He frowned at the memory of the man’s devoid stare. Piercing blue eyes that glowed like fire would stare at you with an intense gaze that held nothing behind it. 

Merrill thought that over for a moment, watching her hands make designs on the table. “It’s hard to imagine a being with that much power…just willing it away…” 

Banal snorted loudly. Her head snapped back up to him. “Trust me when I say, all the Enuvaris had their quirks.” Some more than others. Some less crazy than the others too. 

“Well, what about Sylaise? What was her quirk?” Vhena probed. She had heard Merrill talk endlessly about a few of her Creators, one of which was Sylaise the Hearthkeeper, giver of fire and magic. 

Banal’s upper lip lifted in a snarl, “June’s twin sister—“ 

“She wasn’t Andruil’s?” Merrill interrupted again, blinking. 

He shook his head, “Is that what you think? No, _vherlan_ , she was Andruil’s shield sister? Sworn sister maybe?” He couldn’t think of the proper translation of what they were. “She was…Andruil’s right hand, sworn to always defend her and help her. She was a Battle Healer, and a damn good one too. Andruil was an archer who had knack for getting injured, and Sylaise was always there to patch her back up.” As he spoke he had a frown and bitter tone, but whether it was from talking about Sylaise or Andruil neither woman could tell. 

“Judging from your face, _Papae_ , something about one of them you didn’t like,” Vhena giggled. 

“I cared for neither of them.” 

“Why? What was wrong with Sylaise?” She already knew her father did not care for Andruil. 

Banal frowned deeper. How did one say ‘she was bat shit crazy’ politely? He couldn’t quite come up with a strong enough description that was both tempered and true. So he settled on a more mild term. 

“Sylaise was batty, like crazy, reclusive, swamp witch batty. She was also a bit of a…pompous misanthrope who would much rather be surrounded by plants. Plus, she had the bedside manner of a boar and liked to…experiment, I suppose, with spells on the battlefield. One such experiment is what blinded poor Ghilan’nain. Don’t get me started on what she did with herbs.” 

Merrill frowned. The Hearthkeeper was supposed to be the mild, and kind sister of Andruil. Yet here was a man who knew her and said she was rather cruel. Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to match up anything he said with what her people knew. Banal watched her quietly, knowing full well his Sylaise and hers did not match up. “I believe you got the title Hearthkeeper from her house name: Arlise'sul'avelan, Server of the Warm House. I believe they were a more peaceful house who dedicated most of their time to nurturing their inner flame, don’t quote me though.” 

“But Sylaise…she was the one who gave us fire, taught us the use of herbs…” Merrill spoke quietly. Vhena placed a light hand on her shoulder. 

“Well, if I remember my lessons correctly,” Vhena gave, “when they became Enuvaris, she was the patron of the Battle Healers, like Nenara.” 

“‘Forged in the fires of war, we nurture and tend,’ or something to that effect…common tongue is rather clunky,” Banal grumbled as the phrase did not translate well. “Rather than think of her as some timid healer, think of her as a warrior…who had a strange habit of talking to plants…” 

“She…talked to plants?” Merrill’s ears perked up a little from their drooped state. 

Banal nodded, “She liked plants a lot more than people.” 

The First thought a moment. She supposed that she still passed on fire, just the kind that burned inside your chest when you fought for something, and she was still a healer. She just wasn’t…quite what you’d picture when you thought of a Hearthkeeper. Something still bothered her though. 

“But she blinded Ghilan’nain?” 

Banal winced, remembering vividly the young golden haired woman being brought in with her face in blisters. Her once deep brown eyes were forever a milky blue, staring sightlessly at you. “Not intentionally, I think.” 

“You think?” Vhena cocked an eyebrow at her father’s lack of conviction. Then again, he was paranoid when it came to the Enuvaris…well except for Falon’Din…who she was waiting patiently for him to get to. 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I was not at the battle, so I know only the reports. Sylaise had come up with a new fire spell that was supposed to…” he struggled to remember the inane concept, “fragment as it hit a target, sort of chain attacking…only problem it didn’t know friend from foe.” He gestured vaguely with his hand, indicating they could figure out the rest on their own. 

Merrill winced, thinking of how painful it must have been to be burned on the eyes. She never liked how Ghilan’nain was blinded by the hunter, but she thought this was much worse. “Well what was the Mother of Halla like?” 

Banal chuckled at the title. Ghilan’nain would like that title, he thought. “She was from a noble family and promised as young Dirthamen’s bride. She was…well I actually liked her. She was spunky, didn’t care for courtly affairs or manners. She eventually became the head of the Calvary. She had a rare gift to communicate with animals, which I believe is where your tales come from. Also, she and June loved to make…things, weird mixes of creatures…not sure if there’s a word for it in common tongue.” 

Banal looked up briefly to see An’nas and Tahon watching them. Solas was also eyeing him suspiciously. He only offered an innocent smile, knowing it would just piss the Dread Wolf off. An’nas looked between the two, as though he’d find out what was going on. 

“She and Dirthamen were married?” Merrill’s voice snapped him back to conversation at hand. “So how she connected to Andruil?” When Banal only blinked, she stuttered on, “Our tales say that Ghilan’nain was a beloved hunter of Andruil’s and that when she was blinded, Andruil turned her into a halla as a reward…” 

“Well, she was a shapeshifter, so you aren’t entirely wrong,” Banal gave, “and the Calvary was under Andruil’s portion of the Empire’s army.” 

Merrill furrowed her eyebrows at the notion of an army or an Empire, he couldn’t tell which. “So Ghilan’nain was head of the Calvary which was controlled by Andruil?” 

Banal tossed those words around in his head for a moment. “Close enough, I suppose.” 

“Why did Andruil have control of just a portion of the army?” Vhena asked. She never learned how the Elvhenan’s political structure was set up. Her father wanted her and An’nas far away from politics, and as a child she didn’t really mind not knowing. 

“She was the second child of the Sun King, what the mortals might consider the Emperor of the Elvhenan. She was not the heir, as such she was not given the whole army, but a small force. Which was still under the command of the Sun King mind you.” Banal shrugged. “Think of her Calvary like the chevaliers, they technically serve the Empress, but also serve their General.” 

“That doesn’t sound very smart,” Vhena frowned at the logic. Serving two different people seemed a sure fire way to split an army. Banal smirked at how his daughter picked out flaws so easily. It was the small things that made him happy to say she was his daughter. Now if only she would not talk so much. 

“It wasn’t and was part of the Elvhenan’s downfall.” 

Merrill scribbled some more things down on her papers before searching the paper with her finger. “Dirthamen was husband to Ghilan’nain, but was he also son of Elgar’nan and Mythal? And who was Andruil aside from leader of the Calvary? And Falon’Din, was he Dirthamen’s brother?” 

Banal rose up a hand to stop her. He struggled to keep his face neutral as they were starting to get into the people he wanted to talk about less category. “One question at a time.” 

Merrill looked sheepish. “ _Ir abelas, Hahr--_ ” 

“Stop apologizing. You get excited; it’s fine.” The First looked at him strangely. He caught glimpses of an older man with white hair scolding her for interrupting his stories. Then another flash of a gentler woman trying to tame her wild enthusiasm. “I’ve raised two children, Merrill, I’m quite used to being asked a thousand questions. I mean have you even met my daughter?” 

Vhena stuck her tongue out at him, “Love you too, _Papae_.” Merrill giggled as he just rolled his eyes. Still she resumed her listening look, trying hard to clamp her questions down. 

“Dirthamen was indeed Mythal’s and Elgar’nan’s child. Their only child.” She opened her mouth as though to say something, but quickly clicked it shut when he cocked an eyebrow. “He had his father’s temper, and his mother’s mind. A rather…terrible combination really.” 

“Was he really that bad?” Vhena scoffed, playing with a strand of her hair absently. Her eyes flickered up to his hair that was still a fraying braid from his sparring match. He’d give her five minutes before she was fixing it. 

“He was told all his life he was a god, that tends to make one believe wholeheartedly in their godhood. He was pompous and manipulative, sneaky. He had one of the stranger…cults if you will. He was sort of like...a confession box I suppose. His followers would tell him their worst secrets, to relieve guilt or something. When he disappeared, I imagined they went insane from all their secrets.” 

Merrill’s eyes widened at that telling of the Keeper of Secrets. Banal snorted at her look. 

“He coveted knowledge, especially knowledge about people. He sought to understand them by uncovering their secrets. He was an odd one.” 

Vhena frowned. If Dirthamen was her father’s bond son, that’d make him her bond brother. The man her father just described was not someone she would like to be around. He also sounded like a miniature version of her father if she thought about it. That thought though would never see the light of day. 

“Falon’Din was supposed to be his twin,” Merrill frowned, “but I guess that’s wrong too?” He was starting to sense she was getting deflated at how different truth was. He could only offer a small smile. 

“Depends on your definition of twin,” Banal gave. Falon’Din was actually the one they didn’t get too awfully wrong. 

“You said Dirthamen was their only son…” 

“And the Elvhen had a concept, or perhaps it was more of a condition of birth, of two people born with the same soul: _nas’falon_. I believe it would be similar to the mortal idea of soul mate, only that _nas’falon_ were not always romantic, and some might even despise the other.” 

“An’nas and I are not only twins, but _nas’falon_ ,” Vhena smiled sweetly at Merrill as she continued, “it is hard to describe the bond we have. We always know where the other is, when the other is upset or hurt, we can share magic and even dreams.” 

“That sounds…wonderful…” Merrill almost sighed. Banal almost gagged at how romantic Vhena made it sound. “I wonder why it died out…” 

“The Veil most likely or perhaps it evolved away.” Vhena paused, remembering her brush with death, at how she suddenly felt alone, a hole where An’nas had always been. Her eyes darkened at the memory. 

“There was a saying: it is kinder to kill both soul twins than let one live.” Banal spoke quietly like this was a sacred topic. “If the bond is ever broken, it is like living with half a soul: they descend into madness. Perhaps it is good you no longer have _nas’falon_.” 

Merrill looked between the two. Both their faces masked great pain, their eyes dark and far away in much more troubled times. She shifted uncomfortably before stumbling out, “Falon’Din was Dirthamen’s _nas’falon_ then?” 

Banal blinked, pulling himself away from his own memories. “Yes. Dirthamen kept fainting at odd hours when he was young, and would wake from strange dreams with a garnet-eyed boy. 

“Elgar’nan had his own _nas’falon_ and knew signs. He had people search far and wide for this young boy. They found him in a crypt long forgotten by the family. 

“He was an orphan, I believe, in some village. He watched as his siblings died of cold or starvation, had rocks thrown at him. Dreams were the only escape he had, and the dead were the only ones who would welcome him.” 

Merrill blinked as she tried not to cry, thinking of the Guide of the Dead being alone in a crypt. Even Vhena was surprised to find the man who always wore jewelry and fine furs was originally an orphan. He hardly acted as though he knew anything but palace life. 

Banal let out a breath, head still struggling to match what he knew to be true to what he had thought true long ago. Stupid memory block. “There were many laws protecting _nas’falon_ , one such was that no matter their status in life, they would always be allowed together. If one was a pauper, and the other a noble, the family might adopt the pauper, or find another suitable place for them.” 

“So they were always elevated?” Merrill asked. 

“Soul twins were the second most sacred bond of my people, our people,” he amended, “second only to bondmates. If one had a soul twin, it was considered great fortune, and thus it was always seen as a pious and noble act to take in the other. Some families even elevated the other family. 

“As for Falon’Din and Dirthamen, Falon’Din became Dirthamen’s…squire? House carl? I have no idea what your term would be. He was like Dirthamen’s personal knight, would carry out only his orders, shadow him always, and what have you. Prior to ascension into godhood, I suppose. He looked enough like Mythal that a rumor went around that he was her bastard son, which apparently stuck.” 

Merrill tossed this around in her head. She supposed that wasn’t as bad as the others. Then again, the Inquisitor didn’t say much about his personality… “But what was he like?” She pushed. She caught how the dark elf shifted in his seat, looking off to the side. 

“I can answer that,” Vhena cut in. “He was kind, if a bit arrogant, calm, and funny. He always had rings over his fingers and jewelry everywhere, fine silks and furs. He had gold tattoos over his hands and he was a good enough person to put up with my father for a few centuries.” She grinned devilishly at her father who was content to ignore her. 

“He had a dependency issue with Dirthamen, and was sickly sweet in romance,” Banal growled. “He also liked to sleep with his slaves and feared being forgotten or left alone.” Which Banal exploited to get him to launch a war that near killed them both, but he kept that thought to himself. 

Merrill seemed about to ask how Banal knew either of those things, but Vhena quickly swooped in, if only to spare her father an unpleasant memory. “Andruil, what was she like? You’ve only told how she liked to chase you in dreams.” Merrill furrowed her eyebrows. She only knew of Andruil chasing the Forgotten Ones through the Beyond. 

“Younger sister of Elgar’nan, had her father’s love for power, but with a lot more energy. She liked the thrill of the hunt, the power of holding something’s life in her hands.” He frowned at even having to talk about that particular crazy. The First’s eyes widened horror of the Goddess of the Hunt. “Her enemies called her the Goddess of Sacrifice, I need not tell you why, I assume?” 

Merrill swallowed bile. She shook her head, head conjuring terrible images of typically Tevinter blood rites. She liked the Dalish version of Andruil better. 

“She was stubborn, and perhaps at one time not crazy, perhaps when she was still a child. I did not meet her until she was a teenager and…we did not like each other much.” He frowned at the number of pranks she tried to pull on him, or how she’d conveniently come up with an excuse to get Elgar’nan away from him. 

“Why?” Vhena asked. Her father’s eyes narrowed at the wall. Blue and the molten red color warred inside his markings as something angered him. 

“She did not like me around her brother. When she was younger, she was like every other noble and did not like…the idea of our…relationship. Later it became a matter of my blood, and even later because I was in her way.” 

“Relationship? Blood?” Merrill asked just as Vhena asked, “In her way?” 

He sighed loudly. He didn’t like the idea of telling a Dalish he was sleeping with Elgar’nan. It seemed rather sacrilegious. Thus, he ignored Merrill’s questions. “Andruil began to covet Elgar’nan’s throne. Once he killed their father, who tried to kill him to put Andruil on the throne mind you, she had very little choice aside from assassination. 

“Elgar’nan adored his little sister, but he loved his people too. He knew Andruil would rule with an iron fist, much like their father near the end. Thus he became an obstacle to her.” He ended in a shrug. “And I an obstacle in front of him.” 

“But why were you an obstacle in the first place?” Merrill asked. 

Banal sighed loudly, “Many, many reasons. House Lavellan was known for three things: their appearance—white hair, dawn eyes—, their assassins, and me, well my lineage anyway.” Merrill looked at him as though awaiting him to explain. He nearly groaned as he was having to explain everything wrong in his life. “I…was officially the royal assassin to Elgar’nan and Mythal, and also…Elgar’nan’s bondmate and _nas’falon_.” 

He winced at the First’s doe-eyed look. It was like he just said he was a god. Which he kind of did, he supposed. He was almost afraid she would start bowing. “Y-you…you were mated to the God of Vengeance?” 

Banal grimaced; purple flooded his markings. He shifted uncomfortably. “He wasn’t the God of Vengeance to me, and he only got that title…after our bond broke.” He looked off to the side. Merrill opened her mouth to ask, but Vhena elbowed her. She looked to her friend. Vhena shook her head fiercely. 

“Most people didn’t like our bond, said it was unnatural and not because of the reason you are thinking of,” Banal continued quietly. “They said I could not have a soul to bond.” 

“Why would they say that?” Merrill’s heart hurt hearing how emotionless the Inquisitor was talking. It must have hurt a great deal to hear. 

He looked back to her with a self-belittling smile, “You’ll notice that I do not look like how I described the Lavellans. It is because of my biological father’s bloodline, as dark as it is ancient.” He paused, struggling to keep everything that swirled around him inside. Despair, hate, anger, pride all collided inside him like a storm. Blues, reds, purples and oranges lit up his markings. “If you don’t mind, Merrill, I would like to continue this another time.” He began to stand up. 

“Of course, Hahren.” 

***** 

Banal retreated into his room, specifically to his loveseat where he currently sprawled across. His head hurt a tad. He didn’t think he knew all that stuff. At least he wasn’t consciously aware of the knowledge. 

Yet when he reached for it, it was there. No thought, no strain, no pain required. He rather liked it. He just didn’t like the pain, the guilt, and the anger those memories brought. He supposed he could bury who he was all he liked, hide the fact that for most of his life he thought he was a broken monster, but it didn’t get rid of those thoughts. 

Banal almost could laugh at his younger self. So terrified of becoming a monster, so convinced he was a blight upon the world and look what he became: exactly what he feared. He fell into the madness of his blood and was determined to take everyone with him. 

He frowned at the ceiling. But how did he make that leap? That was still a mystery, those memories still in the fog. How did he get from someone who just wanted to stop his mate from going down a path of destruction to someone wanting that path of destruction? 

A sigh slipped his lips. He knew better than to think too long on it. That’s how he got out of control before. Not that he was in control now… He lifted his marked hand in the air. The markings on the back flickered in the sunset. He turned his palm towards himself. 

Black were the markings around the Anchor. He could still see part of the old black markings around the edges. The Mark of the Void, not so different from the Anchor. He felt a little pull from them both. Warmth and cold collided inside his soul, Fade and Void. 

“Well, I don’t suppose I’ll get anywhere without practice,” he spoke to the air. He sat up, grabbing his braid. He undid the tie at the end and shook out the plaiting. He threw it back into a ponytail before standing up. 

He walked to his desk and took out a piece of paper. Before, he had to draw pictures to communicate with any servant who came into his room when he was gone. His hand shook, the letters shaky as he practiced the strokes Dorian had been teaching him. His handwriting would improve, the human assured him. He hoped so since it looked like a child had written the message: leave dinner on desk, be back soon. 

An unconscious wave of the hand dried the ink with a heating spell. He rolled the paper up and went to his door. A niche in the stonework sat beside it, perfect size to hold a paper where it was noticeable. He stuck it inside before heading for his eluvian. He’d much rather practice in someplace quiet, and where better to practice Void magic than in a place reeking of it? 

He rolled his shoulders as he walked through the eluvian. A familiar prickle danced over his skin. The cold, dry mountain air suddenly became hot and moist. A thousand flowers came upon the drafts. Vhena and An’nas had both started growing flowers outside the Inner Sanctum. Slowly the Temple was restoring itself, or perhaps that was the Void. 

He walked through the old halls. When his people weren’t on missions for him, they came to clear away the rubble the Templars had left in their wake. By now, the hallways were clear of sand and ruin. His heart sank a little at how empty they were. Sure, before they echoed with the sounds of the tortured or the madness of the lower levels, but it seemed more alive. 

Now they were dead, lost to the sands of time, literally and figuratively. 

Banal sighed to the empty air. He shook his head against the melancholy that settled around his shoulders. His steps made little sound over the stones that lit up at their touch. He made the twisted path of corridors to the training room. 

Sunlight filtered through vines and leaves bathed the room in green. His presence lit the braziers with dark Veilfires. The sand pit covered the middle of the room, runes etched into the stone steps around it. They warded the pit, preventing rogue spells from hitting viewers. Moss hung down from the ceiling, covered the columns that stood around the room. Old weapon racks were covered in foliage, the stones cracked from a small tree’s roots seeking purchase. 

He walked to the center of the pit. Sunlight dappled his skin. He sat down, crossing his legs, hands on his knees in a meditative pose. How long had it been since he had to do this? Eons it seemed. Before he even realized there was a block in his head, Void magic was no different than Fade. Before he had lost his mind, they were two distinct entities, but not foreign. 

He shook his head fiercely. He was thinking too much. That phrase rang bells in his head again. Who said it? When? Why? 

Banal closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. Slowly his body fell into rhythm. Each breath brought the tranquility of the Temple. Each exhale dispelled his tension. 

As his mind floated, a memory slipped over him. 

_”You are thinking too much, da‘eanvheraan (little griffon),” a soothing voice chuckled behind him. He opened his eyes from their concentrated scowl to look over his shoulder. A man stood in the doorway with a gentle smile upon his face. Hair the color of a ripe apricot fell around his shoulders, it tied back from his face with an elegant clasp. Rose-colored eyes crinkled at the edges._

 _“How can you think too hard, Papae?” He asked in a small child’s voice. The man laughed. He stepped into the training room, which was empty save for him and Mahviiral. The silvery white robes flowed back, flashing purple like lightning strikes, as he moved. Ishalentarasylnin Tyrlanelden, Isen for short, moved with all the grace of a halla and all the pride of a griffon._

 _

Isen bent down to Mahviiral’s level. “By overcomplicating things,” he ruffled his son’s shaggy white hair. Big green and red eyes framed with snowy lashes looked up at him. 

“How do you do that?” Mahviiral whined. His magic had just started to cause enough problems that his mother told him to learn how to control it. Told, yelled, same thing. Isen said he had always had magic, so then why was it suddenly causing problems? He shocked things accidentally, or froze the water in the fountains as he walked by. He lit tapestries on fire…Isen found it amusing, the boy’s mother far less so. It was a normal part of life for every Elvhen, yet she snapped and barked every time. It was to the point Mahviiral would jump and send out a shockwave at just the sound of her voice. 

Isen smiled down at the boy he called son. “Magic isn’t that hard, da’eanvheraan. It is life and breath, as simple as breathing or blinking. It requires no thought, just a bit of control.” The seven year old looked down. “And control is something that can be taught,” he added gently. 

Adahla would be happy to let the child figure everything out by himself. She’d be even happier if he never learned how to control his powers and she got to lock him in a prison cell. Isen shook his head. 

He sat down in front of Mahviiral, legs crossed. “Come I’ll show you.” Mahviiral hesitated. He was practically trained not to expect help even from his father. “Come now, there’s nothing to fear; I am here, and I swear nothing will harm you.” He repeated the phrase he had spoken since Mahviiral was but a babe. When he first stood, when he was too afraid to take a step or let go of the table leg. 

Mahviiral mimicked his father’s pose, squaring his shoulders, hands on his knees. Isen watched him closely, attuning his senses to the child’s magic. Isen’s eyes flashed like red lightning as the spell activated. Mahviiral’s aura was timid, clinging tightly to his body as though to hide his presence. A brilliant white flame halo surrounded him, wobbling in areas as he struggled to keep it around him. 

That explained the discharges, Isen thought absently. Mahviir tried far too hard to keep himself under lock and key, keep it all inside. The chains he wove around his magic, himself might slacken under the strain and the energy that had built up would just disperse into lightning or ice or fire. 

Isen blinked, his eyes returning to the light rose color. “Close your eyes,” he waited for the child to shut his eyelids, “now just listen.” The training grounds were in their own tree, the boughs creating the walls and the ceiling. The floor magically held water suspended under its glittering surface like a bowl. Wind whispered through the walls; bugs played blissfully in the air. 

The market was in full swing, distant sounds of merchants yelling their wares. Harts clomped over the wooden bridges. A thousand flowers mixed with the swamp’s waters on the breeze. 

Tension slowly bled out of Mahviiral’s slight shoulders. His breathing evened out. The tips of his ears quivered as they heard tiny noises of the bugs in the canopies. Isen gently reached out with his magic, filling the air with his own electric aura. Mahviiral’s ears perked up. 

“Listen beyond the bugs, feel the currents all around you and reach out and touch them.” 

Mahviiral’s head cocked to the side. He felt the breeze on his skin, moist and cool, but there was something else there. An intangible thing he never knew. It was energetic and danced around him. It played higher as though to a catchy tune before swooping down low on the ground. 

His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to chase it with his senses. His head turned trying to follow it. He felt it get closer, a warmth suddenly entering the air. The warmth didn’t dance playfully as the other current. It stepped quietly, lightly, hopping from one stone to the next over a river it seemed. 

“Hold out your hands,” Isen’s voice was quiet. Mahviiral almost didn’t catch it. Slowly, feeling his arms weighed a thousand pounds, he lifted his hands out in front of him as though in offering. “Good, now try to draw the currents into your hands…like…cupping water from a stream.” 

Mahviir felt the warmth swirl around him. He focused on his hands, wanting the warmth there. Like tendrils wrapping around his arms, the warmth bled into his hands where it pulsed happily. 

“Open your eyes.” 

He did as he was told. At first he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Flames hovered in between his small hands. They danced and hopped in a bright white color. Across from him, his father was smiling brightly. A glowing orb of lightning pirouetted in his own hands. 

“Fire,” Isen snorted, “with how much you shock things, I’d have thought you’d be lightning.” Mahviir was too busy gaping at the pretty white flames in his hands. He looked up in wonder. Was he doing that? “With a little more practice, you’ll be able to,” Isen dispersed the orb he held. Instead he played with lightning between his fingers. He tossed a ball up into the air, passed it between his hands. In a quick motion, he pulled the lightning, stretched it into a spear before collapsing it between his hands. In a flourish, Isen flicked magic dust over Mahviiral. The child laughed as he ducked his head into his shoulders, the flame disappearing. He smiled up at his father, little flecks of lightning dust glittering on his cheeks. 

“Remember that flame is you, your soul. You can call it into being whenever you wish,” Isen put his hand over Mahviiral’s heart. “All you need to do is listen to it.” 

As those words left his mouth, the scene began to disappear, fade into another one. Flashes of being curled up on a tree branch as ice and snow tore at the world around him. Any warmth he had felt before died. The flame turned black in his mind’s eye. Then his mind settled. A small hut in the middle of swamp, far from the bustling city he grew up in. Isen was there, holding out his hand as Mahviiral hesitated on one of the wooden steps poking out of the waters. 

“I’m here, da’eanvheraan,” he repeated. Mahviiral reached out as though to take his hand, but caught sight of the black mark now marring his left palm. It radiated a cold power. He remembered very clearly the ice and snow that surrounded him as the mark bled into the world. He remembered Alha’s sheer terror as the cold froze and ate the world around it. 

Mahviir pulled back, holding that hand against his chest as though that would stop the shadow from coming back. Isen’s smile faltered slightly. “What if it comes back? And I can’t stop it again?” 

“It will come back again,” Isen stated simply, “it is you, your magic. It is your soul, just as the flame was.” 

Mahviiral’s eyes shone with fear and tears. “I almost killed someone, Papae,” his voice waivered. He was so afraid, of the shadow, of the noises he heard behind his ears that got louder every day. He felt them, the hate, the fear, the despair all around him. Isen sighed. He walked up to his son, now fourteen and already had more burdens on his shoulders than any child should have. “Yes, that’s why you must learn to control it, just as you did before.” 

“What if I can’t? What if it comes back and I can’t come back? What if—“ 

Isen put a hand over his mouth. His expression was stern love. “You are thinking too much.” He sighed to himself, cursing the monster that infected Mahviiral’s blood. Had he been born of Isen’s line, this would all be avoided. “I will not lie, da’eanvheraan, I do not know how to control the Shadow the lurks in your blood. I do not know how this affects you or how to help you.” He paused as Mahviir’s eyes glistened like he thought he was alone. “But I know someone who can help both of us.” 

Mahviiral blinked. Hesitantly, he reached up and pushed Isen’s hand away from his mouth. “Who? Sulen—I mean my sire?” He didn’t dare say his name, for fear it’d summon him like the myths. Isen frowned at the mention of the asshole. Yes he had to explain why Adahla hated Mahviiral, why she often said he wasn’t Isen’s son, why he had Void in his veins. Mahviiral hadn’t been surprised by the news he had a different father than Alha. After all, they didn’t look anything alike, and he shared no traits with Isen either. 

Still, Isen held all the love in the world for him, it showing in his eyes and smiles. And in how quick to his defense he came. His mother would’ve locked him away by now, if Isen had not stood toe to toe with the assassin queen. 

“No,” Isen shook his head, “This person, though, helped him to control it until he didn’t want to anymore.” He straightened to ruffle the pure black hair Mahviiral left untied. The thick, white streak that ran alongside his face was the only remnant of the child he raised. But it was all he needed to know Mahviiral could fight his blood. “And she will teach us both how to deal with this for I will be right beside you, alright?” 

Isen held out his hand again. Mahviir looked up at the house built inside or on a fallen tree. The front was partially obscured by the moss that grew around the tree. Lotuses and other flowers bloomed. He reached out and grabbed Isen’s hand. He had no idea what was in that house, if it was his doom or his salvation. But anything was better than his current purgatory. 

The memory jumped to inside the house. All wood, using as much as the old tree as possible. Flowers, herbs, and various plant life decorated the walls in tapestries or just hung from the roof. 

“Well, come come, haven’t got all day,” a familiar female voice called. Nolahra, much younger than he remembered, stood in the hallway. Her thick, black hair tied into a neat bun, as her piercing blue eyes smiled gently. 

Isen nudged his shoulder to get Mahviir to follow the old elven woman with streaks in her hair. “Nolahra, I thank you for offering to do this,” Isen said eloquently as they walked further into the tree at its incline. 

Mahviiral was busy looking around. Windows were made from the holes in the tree, or the knots in the wood. Furniture was built right from the walls or the floor. No candles or torches lit the way, only luminescent plants or bugs, a few magelights captured in ornate wooden balls. 

Nolahra waved the comment away, “Grandmothers do a lot for their grandchildren.” 

That made Mahviir pay attention. His head snapped forward, his feet stopping. “What?” he asked, baffled. 

Isen laughed, “That’s right, you probably don’t remember your grandmother. Mahviiral, this is your…sire’s mother, Nolahra.” Mahviir looked from his father to his grandmother. She smiled softly at him, a sadness to it. His ears pinned back as a noise that wasn’t there started up. He winced as it whined and trembled. 

“I see you hear emotions too, well that’s good,” Nolahra laughed, though it held centuries of sadness behind it. “At least, you aren’t much different than my Sulen.” Isen frowned at that, but didn’t comment. Mothers, well good mothers anyway, love their children unconditionally. 

“I…don’t remember you.” Mahviiral admitted as he tried to think passed the whine. 

Nolahra motioned for them to continue. “No, you wouldn’t. That mother of yours only kept me around till you were about four. Didn’t want me around the little prince.” Her tone held bitterness, and anger long buried. 

Mahviiral whined as other sounds hit his ears. Isen watched him with worry. He didn’t know how to make whatever it was that was hurting him stop. And that hurt more than anything. 

Nolahra stopped in front of door with wards and runes glowing brightly, “Here we are.” She opened the door and motioned with her head for them to go in. Isen gave Mahviiral’s hand a gentle squeeze as the boy shrank back from the door. 

Silence came from the room. Complete and utter silence. He wasn’t sure he liked it. The silence last time came when he turned into a demon and projected his own silence. Nolahra chuckled. 

“Inside the room, it is normal. What you are, or well, aren’t hearing is the wards. They ward against Void magic, helps me keep my house in case of meltdowns.” Mahviir stared at her strangely. Great he was going to have more meltdowns, or well freeze downs? “It takes a while to control, da’len. I doubt even Sulen has it completely figured out.” 

Isen was the one to take the first step. Going passed the door sent a shiver down his spine. Wards, regular ones, were uncomfortable as they produced a resonance. They hummed, pulsed, or vibrated with power in a way to counteract the vibration of whatever spell they warded against. 

These…they vibrated against magic itself. It crawled over his skin as it repulsed his magic. Like with the ringing of a finger around a crystal goblet, his ears pinned back and a shiver went down his spine. 

Still, once you got passed the door, the room was fine. In fact, it hummed with magic. The air glittered with it like being inside an ice crystal. Bugs and plants alike buzzed with mana. Though the atmosphere was somehow heavy, he felt no danger. He turned back to Mahviir who was still looking at the door with uneasy disdain. “It’s fine inside, Viir,” he coaxed. The boy looked at Nolahra who could only smile softly at him. His face said he was wary about trusting her, but he darted inside. 

The air in the room dropped several degrees. Isen blinked at the sudden change. Mahviiral looked around the room, his eyebrows furrowed. He could hear…everything. Surprise, twittering notes rising higher; amusement, a playful and lively clash of chords; even his own feeling of nervousness sounded around him, a cluttered mess of notes. 

Then there was the sounds the plants gave off: low hums and distant hymns. He remembered sometimes hearing similar sounds around a chapel when someone had died, the elegy reaching even the palace. 

Slowly he looked around at the round room. It was no different than the rest of the house, made entirely from the tree with magelights hovering around. Only this room had a hole in the ceiling. Light filtered through the crystal panes in a calm swirl of colors. Beyond the crystals, he could see the sky. The hole in the canopy must have been created when the tree fell, he thought absently. 

“An old tale my mother used to tell said the Void was where we all returned to, even the plants and animals. When a tree falls, its roots rip open a hole to the Void.” Nolahra spoke quietly as she entered and closed the door. “I don’t know if that’s true, but I found this spot has a very weak barrier between us and the Void.” 

“That would explain the feeling in this room,” Isen commented. 

Mahviiral cocked his head to the side, “What feeling?” 

Nolahra chuckled, “To us it feels heavy. To you, I imagine the only thing that is strange is all the noise.” When the child’s eyes went wide, she waved his confusion away. “Sulen often told me about the songs he could hear. I think that’s from the spirit.” 

“Is there a way to make it stop?” Mahviir asked after a moment. The tips of his ears quivered. He was not bothered by these songs. They were calm, light, and though they all played in a different key, they were in perfect harmony. 

“Can you make your heart stop or your blood run cold?” Nolahra asked flatly. Mahviir shifted uneasily at her piercing stare. “Whether you like it or not, you have spirit in your blood; that’s never going away.” 

A sigh slipped out of Mahviiral. Isen looked at his son, then at Nolahra with a protective stare of a griffon guarding its fledgling. She held up a hand before walking to the boy. She crouched, so she looked up at his eyes. 

“So you’ve only got two options: either you learn to control it, or you become what everyone thinks you are.” She searched his eyes for a moment. “Monsters are made, not born.” 

“I don’t even know how I do it, let alone how to control it,” Mahviir grumbled. Nolahra rose and ruffled his hair. 

“That’s because you think too much.” She walked to the circle of pillows in the center. She gracefully sat down, legs crossed. “Magic need not be hard, no matter its origin.” She motioned to the other two pillows. Isen gave his son’s shoulder a nudge and followed him to the circle. They mimicked her position. 

“First, close your eyes, listen to everything. Try to figure out what each sound is, where it comes from.” Obviously the two couldn’t do that, but Mahviir did as he was told. Like removing a blindfold, that other sense sprang to life as he focused on the room. Bugs hummed softly as they flew from one plant to another. They didn’t really have a song, but he heard something. It was the sound equivalent to the feel of grass swaying around you in a gentle breeze. They were calm. 

His ears picked up on the buzzing of the plants. As he listened, the plants turned to different sounds. A twinkling bell-like noise came from those who were healthy. But there was one to the left…it sounded more like rain falling in a violent storm. 

“I think one of your plants needs water,” he mumbled as he opened his eyes. Nolahra started laughing as Isen just stared bewildered at him. “It sounds like a downpour.” He turned his head to try to find that plant. Sure enough, there was a drooping plant. That was when he felt a tug start inside him. He rubbed absently at his chest as he stared at the flower. His muscles became twitchy. Then Nolahra snapped her fingers. The sound startled him and he snapped his head over to her. 

“That’s your first lesson. What you just heard, what you started feeling is similar to a spirit’s geas.” 

“A geas?” He asked, still rubbing his chest. He didn’t like the feeling of being pulled towards something, even a plant. 

“Well, let’s say a spirit of Compassion hears someone crying. A geas will come over them until they helped that person. It’s like a compulsion; they **have** to do it, in order to stay themselves.” 

Mahviiral thought a moment. He remembered being taught how you could summon a spirit. It was very important to not force them, but to let your need draw them to you. Then your task had to be in accordance to their nature. So Wisdom’s need for knowledge was nothing more than a compulsion? Were they just subject to their natures, like slaves? 

“The difference between you and them, though, is you can stop it. You can ignore it, or choose to follow it, if you know how.” Nolahra continued. 

“How?” Mahviiral sounded doubtful. After all, he couldn’t control the shadow that came over him. “I can’t even stop the shadow from coming out when I get mad or when something is squealing in my ears or—“ 

“Practice.” Nolahra interrupted. “That squealing will start to turn into a distinct sound, something you’ll associate with a need or emotion. If you hear it, just close your eyes and just listen. You might see a color or get a feeling like you did with the plant. But you cannot let it overwhelm you.” 

Isen was listening very carefully from his spot. “And how might he do that?” Isen asked quietly. From his understanding, everyone projected emotions and needs, and that’s what the spirits picked up on, what they thrived on. It’s what shaped the spirits. If Mahviiral was part spirit, how could he just ignore it? 

“That rather depends on him. I have a few charms that might help. They calmed Sulen on his bad days when he was young, but I first have to know Mahviir’s personal magic.” Nolahra looked at him with calm blue eyes, appraising him. “Other than that, hard to say. It might be certain people could be a point in which he can focus on in a crowd, or an animal. Sulen listened to the trees and the water, said nature had a far calmer song than the rest of the world.” 

“Is that why you live in a tree?” Mahviiral blurted out. Nolahra laughed. 

“Last I checked all of this swamp lived in a tree.” 

“But you are actually **in** the tree, not in the branches,” he argued. She rolled her eyes. 

“Now you are just being picky.”

_

The door opening interrupted Banal’s thoughts. He blinked as though seeing the light for the first time. An’nas was peeking around the door, looking about as startled to him as he was to find An’nas. 

“Your dinner is getting cold,” An’nas mumbled. He stayed at the door. The room was strange, the air too cold to be in the desert, and moisture seemed to hang in the air. He could smell water and plants where none were before. Moreover, the room was insanely quiet, no subtle sounds, no songs, just silence. 

Banal’s mind took a second to catch up to him. “Oh, I apparently was here longer than I thought…” He looked over to where the moon’s light shone down. He rubbed his head, trying expel the drowsiness that washed over him. Despite the memory not finishing, he knew the rest. “I’ll be there in a minute.” 

An’nas hesitated. “What are you doing?” 

“Some exercises I was taught to control my magic.” Banal shrugged, settling back into his meditative position. He just barely caught An’nas’s left hand clenching, but he did manage to see it before he tucked it behind his back. 

An’nas’s ears twitched as a sudden and powerful wave of guilt rushed around him. It was damn near suffocating, like a tidal wave. It wrapped around him like vines, tightening like a snake. 

Banal’s eyes, for the first time, showed hundreds of regrets. “ _Ir abelas, ma da’nas_ ,” he whispered to the air. He had never wanted children. Not because he didn’t like them, but because he wanted his line to die with him. He didn’t want anyone else to have to go through what he did, the struggling to keep himself under rigid control. 

An’nas stared wide-eyed at his father. He didn’t think he ever heard Banal say sorry in such a saddened voice. Most of his apologies came with a bitter tone. This one… “Why are you sorry? What did you do this time?” He tried to joke. 

Banal smirked and snorted. “I never wanted children. I wanted my line to die with me. I had hoped you and your sister were free from my blood, but…” his eyes travelled down to An’nas’s hand. His son looked at him warily. An’nas had never told him about the mark, nor when he first turned. 

Banal knew just from how An’nas felt. There was a quiet around him, a void that stretched and strained to be free. It wanted to reach out to the world and see, feel, hear, taste, and smell the world. But it also helped that Banal had many spies in the world, and knew what had happened long before Tahon had managed to track down a Black Eluvian to bring An’nas home. 

“I never did teach you how to control it, did I?” Banal suddenly laughed at himself. He supposed in his past self’s mind, An’nas would just have to figure it out himself. After all, Banal had a war to instigate. “It might be a little late, but, _garas_.” He motioned for his son to come in. 

“I don’t…know what you are talking about…” An’nas tried to cover up. 

Banal snorted again. “Oh so that little black mark on your hand is just a tattoo? Has nothing to do with Void magic?” An’nas winced. He sighed to himself. Now he knew how Isen felt all those years ago. “I’m not stupid, An’nas, and I know the mark of the Void when I see it. I also know a few tricks to get around it, to not get overwhelmed.” 

His son looked behind at the hallway before slowly walking into the room. He hesitated again before stepping into the sand. He sat down like Banal, shifting uncomfortably. He didn’t like thinking about the mark, and he was wary his father’s teaching methods had changed much from when he was small. He was kind of like Lotus: trial by fire teaching method. 

Banal rolled his shoulders. “Haven’t done this in a while so bear with me,” he admitted. “First step is close your eyes and just listen to what’s going on around you.” He waited for An’nas to close his eyes before he did the same. 

The desert was far different than Nolahra’s safe room. The air was drier for one, the plants sang less. But he could hear it still. Somewhere a portion of the tunnels for the water had caved in, turning the normally calm and steady water sound into the sound of rocks crumbling. A few plants made a rain sound. There was a nesting fennec somewhere that made a twittering noise of anxiety like caws from a raven. She must be denning. 

Slowly, Banal breathed in the air. “Focus on breathing.” As he exhaled, he imagined his magic fluttering out into the air. All the chains and ropes he had crumbled away. “With each exhale, just relax and let your mind do as it will.” The air dropped many degrees. Ice began to crackle. But the air thickened as moisture invaded. 

The plants brightened at the feel of water. A soft breeze wrapped around him. He opened his eyes. His body felt light, all the magic he tried to keep inside away from him. It danced and swirled in the air like it had when he was small. Only rather than a white flame, a black flame came to life in his hands as he held them out and coaxed it there. 

He looked at An’nas who was tilting his head like he was hearing Banal’s magic. “What do you hear?” He asked quietly. He could feel some of An’nas’s barriers breaking down. 

“Water…but it crackles like a flame as it flows over everything,” An’nas grumbled. Banal smirked. 

“Well try to catch it,” he suggested. 

“Catch it?” 

“Reach out and grab it,” Banal rolled his eyes. “You have to feel some odd part of you trying to reach for it.” 

In truth, An’nas’s whole body wanted to reach out and touch it. It was quiet, a silence that was as soothing as standing next to a fireplace at home. Yet it was cold, a nice breeze off a lake’s waters. It twisted through the air like a river, unstoppable and endless. It did not heed any barriers as it tumbled around the rocks in the air currents. 

Slowly, An’nas’s hand rose, breaching the cold pocket of air in front of him. His magic flexed and the calmness radiating from whatever it was invaded him. He didn’t even fight it when his magic snapped out like lightning. 

Banal watched as a vine of lightning began to twist and curl from his son’s hand. A soft green lightning buzzed through the air as it zipped and shot around the room after Banal’s black flame. “Earth, huh. Well I suppose given your affinity for lightning, it makes sense,” he muttered as he watched the lightning. “You can open your eyes now.” 

His son blinked, looking at their outstretched hands. Black flames poured over Banal’s fingers like water, just as lightning swirled around his fingers like a climbing plant. His eyes widened. He didn’t know his magic could be calm like that. It didn’t bite or sting as he made it jump to his other hand. 

“How…?” He trailed off, not even able to comprehend a sentence. 

Banal cocked his head to the side, “Sometimes it just takes stepping back. Some things in life you cannot control, and trying to hurts you more.” He watched his own flames for a moment. He closed his hand, letting the flames die, his magic receding back into him. A good portion of it, though, stayed hovering around him as it always had. “No matter the kind of magic, it is a part of you and all you have to do is listen to it.” 

***** 

“Ah, found you,” Banal’s voice startled Dorian from his book. He looked up to see the Inquisitor at the railing with a bottle of wine in his hand. The elf had a mischievous smirk upon his face. “ _Garas_.” When Dorian only stared at him with a cocked eyebrow, the elf rolled his eyes and stepped forward. He was still miffed from that morning, but not so much he wouldn’t like to see what swill Banal had conjured from somewhere. Banal smiled, bowing as he extended a hand, “ _Garas, lathlin_.” 

Dorian set aside his book. “Come where?” He asked, suspiciously. 

Banal only winked. “It’s a surprise.” Dorian resisted the urge to roll his own eyes. Of course the elf was going to be mysterious; it was part of his charm. He stood up and walked closer. Banal’s ears went back as though he heard a terrible noise. Gold and orange flowed through his markings like molten amber. Still he didn’t flinch or let his smile falter as Dorian’s hand came to rest in his own. 

In his chest, his heart beat a thousand times. A string attached him to the human’s loud song. Fix it ran on repeat through his head. Surprisingly, Banal did not fight the compulsion. It was a familiar one now; one that would not go away just because he ran from it. 

He interlaced his fingers with Dorian’s before leading him down to the main hall. Most people had gone to bed, leaving the hall strangely deserted. A few guards patrolled, but other than them, it was a ghost hall. 

“Am I allowed to ask what you have in that bottle? Or is that too a surprise?” Dorian asked as they entered the Inquisitor’s tower. Banal looked over his shoulder, the light making his eyes flash gold. 

“The Archon sent some wines from his winery as a small gift. Who am I to deny tributes of alcohol?” He shrugged, turning to head up the stairs. Dorian blinked at the back of his head. The Archon sent the Inquisitor wine? 

“Did you check it for poison?” He was only half-joking. Banal would eventually be a threat to anyone’s power, just as much or even more so than Corypheus. 

The elf, however, merely laughed, “Yes, I’m sure the Archon would poison the one who can kill the threat to his rule.” 

Dorian snorted. “No, he’d wait until after you did his dirty work.” 

“You think?” The elf didn’t seem the least bit concerned about how that was how Tevinter politics actually worked. Kind of like how Antivan politics worked. 

“I wouldn’t put it passed him.” 

“Well, it’s good that I don’t drink wine, then isn’t?” 

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. “Then why are you bringing it?” Banal paused at a door Dorian had not noticed before. Strange, one would think that as often as he’d gone up the stairs he’d have noticed the door. And one would be wrong too. 

“I thought you might miss the alcohol of home,” Banal muttered as he pushed against the door. “It can only be an improvement from the swill you drink in the tavern.” The night air blew in from roof of the war room. Seemed strange to have battlements when there was at least several hundred feet of vertical mountain side. Yet there was surrounding the wooden planks of the floor. 

It was completely deserted, save a lone crow and an Inquisition flag fluttering in the breeze. No lights shone anywhere on this side, just the stars above the mountains. You could see for miles, nothing but mountains and snow of course. It seemed very…disconnected from the world, not even the sounds of the Herald’s Rest could be heard. 

Dorian’s eyes drifted down as the Inquisitor led him to the side of the keep. A small nest of pillows and furs sat on the floor as though someone was going to have a picnic. He looked at the elf suspiciously. 

“What’s this about exactly?” After all, Banal was far from the romantic. This all seemed like something Cassandra would have constructed: moonlight casting a serene blue glow around them, a calm breeze, good wine, and furs to keep warm. Sappy romance at its finest. 

“I wish to stargaze and drink,” Banal shrugged as he sat down next to a strange decanter. 

“And I’m here because?” Dorian asked as he sat down beside him. He was studying the decanter, to be honest. Magic seemed to shift around the crystal. Silver metalwork decorated the hypnotic dance of colors with vines and flowers climbing up the long neck to the stopper that almost blended in as part of the bottle. 

Banal smirked like he was laughing at himself as he handed the decanter over. “I do not wish to do it alone.” Then he waved his hand as though to dismiss his words. “Do not read too much into this, _lathlin_.” 

Dorian snorted. “This is all terribly saccharine, you know that yes?” He glanced sideways at the elf. Banal had tilted his head up to the sky, and did not seem to listen. Stars reflected in his pupils, almost as wide as an owl’s. Dorian wondered how many lights he could see briefly, but looked down at the glass. 

Fine craftsmanship went into that bottle. Magic hummed against his hands. To keep the liquor fresh? Cool? He couldn’t quite make out the spell…or spells. It was like they were in another language entirely. Inside the ruby red liquid moved, the colors and lights making it appear to be a magical elixir…which technically alcohol could be considered that. 

“I thought you said you don’t drink wine,” Dorian commented at the red liquid. Banal finally glanced over at him. 

“That’s not wine.” The human gave him a strange look. “It’s Elvhen Brandy; it always had that color.” He danced over the small detail that the color came from blood, literally. Blood brandy, next to blood wine, was a very popular Elvhen drink, though less refined than its prestigious cousin. 

He doubted many people would like the idea of elves being able to drink blood like mythical vampires, but blood was life, it was power. To drink it, even diluted in alcohol, was not only a sign of class, but of power. It could give slight boosts to abilities and knock you on your ass quicker than Golden Scythe 4:90 Black. Coincidently, Banal had drank some Scythe with Bull once. He barely got a buzz. 

Dorian started to try to open it. Banal grabbed his hand and pulled it away. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” 

“And why not?” 

Banal grabbed the Tevinter wine and traded bottles with the human. “Because I’m pretty sure that will kill you.” Before the human could even snort, he explained, “It’s been sitting in my temple for some thousand years; I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to drink a glass.” 

“And you are still going to drink it?” Dorian laughed at the madness. 

Banal furrowed his eyebrows in a mock insulted look. “Of course, I never waste good liquor. Besides, this will at least get me buzzed whereas that,” he motioned with his chin to the wine, “would take the entire shipment.” 

“You can’t have that good of tolerance,” Dorian scoffed as he uncorked his given drink. He might as well at least try the Archon’s wine. It would be rude otherwise. 

Banal chuckled, handing him a glass. “Elvhen have very hardy bodies, Dorian. Regeneration is but one small perk that allows me to drink a Qunari under the table.” Dorian smiled at the memory the drinking contest, the morning seeming far away under the stars. “Besides, Elvhen liquors set for centuries before they were drank. Thus higher tolerance,” he shrugged. 

“So because you can do weird elf magic and sleep off a sword wound, you can drink a few thousand year old drink?” How was that logic? Though, the regeneration would come in handy with hangovers and liver damage. 

“Pretty much, my liver is no worse off than a child’s.” Banal carefully pressed two hidden buttons on the stopper to get it to release. Magic shimmered as it cascaded down the crystals. The florals of the liquid damn near permeated the air in thick perfume. Underneath, the blood left spices like fire, smoke and wood. It smelt of home. 

Dorian blinked as that potent smell hit him. His eyebrows raised. It was like a deadly poison disguised as sweet perfume. “If you die, Varric is going to make some cheeky remark about you alcoholism at your funeral.” 

Banal laughed as he poured himself a glass, “Worry less about my drink and focus on yours.” 

“What spells are on the decanter?” Dorian took a sip of his drink as the elf threw one of the furs over their legs. 

“Mostly to keep it cool. This kind of brandy can spoil if left for too long open, note the special stopper. And some other intricacies that are rather inane.” Banal covered up the last bit by taking a drink of his glass. Heat practically exploded through him, up his nose, down his throat. When it hit his stomach, power spread like a wild fire, a tingling going up and down his spine. He sighed blissfully as the day’s stresses disappeared in the fire’s wake. 

Dorian chuckled at the blissful look the elf had. Apparently that was quality brandy. They sat in silence for a few minutes, staring up at the stars, before he dared to break the silence. “Do you often come out here to gaze at the sky?” After all, this seemed like it would be a big deal for the servants to pack everything out here, unless they did it often. 

Banal’s eyes flickered over the thousands of stars he could see. “I suppose I do. At first I’d just come and stand, gazing out at the auroras. The servants seemed to notice and one night I had food and drink. The next pillows and furs. Now all I have to do is ask.” 

Dorian noticed the almost nostalgic look on his face, his voice far away. “And what fascinates you so with the stars that you brave Frostback nights?” 

Banal’s eyes flickered down for a moment. A memory sat on his tongue, rising up from the depths of his mind. “When I was younger, I wished to be a star,” he said quietly, eyes rising up to look at them all. 

“A star? A bright pinpoint of light in the sky?” Dorian laughed at how…normally childish that sounded. He somehow pictured child Banal just like adult Banal: grumpy and realistic. 

Banal laughed at himself as well, “Childish I know. But you see there was this old story my father would tell me. It was an old…legend, religious belief or whatever you wish to call it. It was said that great people, heroes of great virtue and pure souls, when they died the spirits would not let them disappear into the Void to become nothing. 

“So the spirits would gather their soul and parade up to the heavens. Their bright forms would create the light bridges, the auroras you see sometimes, to show the birth of a new star.” 

Stars are dead heroes, cheery thought, Dorian snorted in his head. Yet, it was a rather nice way of looking at things. “And you wished to be one.” 

“Stupid and silly of me,” Banal scoffed. He was born of the Void after all. When he died, no spirit would guide him anywhere but back to the Void. 

“How incredibly innocent of you,” Dorian corrected. “What makes you think you couldn’t be a star?” 

Banal looked at him from the corner of his eye. “You’ve seen what I am, Dorian. The Void has already claimed my soul, no spirit would touch me.” 

“And neither would Death it seems.” 

That got the elf to laugh loudly, “Very true!” Dorian could only stare at the strange creature that had surfaced. He sat sipping his glass, a smile upon his lips. Eyes glittered with all the stars in the skies. Pale blue light covered him as though he was a wraith, like some portal had been opened by the starlight and shown Dorian a glimpse of another, long lost world. 

Banal felt eyes on him and turned to the human. “Something wrong?” He cocked an eyebrow. He heard no distress, save the nagging thorn in Dorian’s side, but even that was rather quiet. 

A hand brushed along his jaw, guiding him closer. Soft lips pressed against his, tasting of bitter fruit. Banal watched as he was (for a change) gently kissed. When the human pulled back, he blinked confusedly with long eyelashes fluttering. 

“Not that I don’t like being kissed, but…what was that about? Are you drunk already?” Banal asked in the small space between them. Another kiss. This time he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “You call me saccharine.” 

Dorian chuckled as he again kissed the Inquisitor. He couldn’t help it. Banal looked so damn confused by simple romance, like he couldn’t fathom being kissed in any way but sexual, and it was delightful. When Dorian kissed him a fourth time, the elf turned his head away in stubbornness. He gave him a wary side look. 

“Seriously, are you drunk?” Banal grumbled even as his jaw began to be kissed delicately. “You’re going to spill my drink.” 

“Then stop trying move away,” Dorian chuckled. 

“Answer my damn questions.” Banal countered with a pout. Dorian got an evil smirk before kissing the elf’s nose. Then he started laughing as Banal furrowed his eyebrows and looked like he had been scandalized. His mouth was slightly open and everything. 

“Do you realize how baffled you look right now?” Dorian laughed. 

“ _Shemlen_ are baffling.” 

“Why because I dare kiss you without an ulterior motive?” Dorian joked, taking a sip of wine. Banal barely got to nod before he was surprised with another kiss, this time to his forehead. The human moved closer, wrapping his arm around his shoulder. Banal looked at the hand like it was a snake. 

“Note to self, wine makes Dorian very romantic…ban all wine,” Banal muttered even as the hand rubbed his shoulder. Yet when it went far enough down to run over his bond mark, the human stopped. His body stiffened. 

The song flared again, this time just a loud pop of ringing bells and clattering cymbals, before it muted. As though Dorian had shut down that feeling as he moved his hand back up to his shoulder. A subtle note of guilt and self-loathing flickered in the silence behind his ears. 

“Dorian,” Banal started, still staring at his hand, “something upset you this morning.” The human stayed quiet, though the guilt rose in volume. “What was it?” 

Dorian took a moment to make sure he could convincingly lie. After all, it wasn’t like he had ever had any real claim on Banal. He shouldn’t have gotten that upset over a piece of fabric. Yet it stung, and he had very little clue as to why. He sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that though. 

“It was nothing.” 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing to me. Something bothered you.” Banal turned to the human with piercing eyes like he was trying to peer into his soul. He waited for the human to give it up willingly, but when he didn’t, let out a sigh. “Are you going to tell me, or do I get to guess?” Still the human kept his mouth in a thin line. 

Now he knew what Dorian went through whenever he tried to talk to him about his problems, Banal though bitterly. “Fine, I’ll guess. To warn you, I’m good guesser.” Banal moved closer. For a moment Dorian thought they were going to kiss. Then Banal’s scleras turned pitch black and the air dropped several degrees. Frost crackled over their glasses. Dorian’s heart stopped. His wide-eyed reflection stared back at him from the black orbs rimmed with green. 

“Relax, Dorian, I am fully in control.” Banal grumbled as fear hit the highest note possible. He rubbed at one of his ears as though that would rid him of horrid sound. It dimmed as the human looked at the white streak that began to give off its weird fiery glow. The markings flared brighter, becoming distinct, outlined designs rather than shimmering, vaguely lined shapes. “Good.” 

Banal leaned over, ducking under Dorian’s chin. His fingers unbuckled a few straps and buckles, pushing them aside. He pressed his ear over the human’s heart. The rhythm jumped, but slowed down a bit. 

“What are you doing?” Dorian asked, as he stared down at Banal in bewilderment. 

“Guessing, now quiet.” Banal commanded. He closed his eyes. A cold magic seeped out from him, going into the human. It dodged and skimmed around his barriers until it finally connected to the human’s soul. Whereas Banal’s was a vast ocean of darkness as endless and placid as the skies above them, Dorian’s was crackling with energy, fire in a forest with lightning darting down from the skies. 

Banal stopped himself from dwelling on how very large the year span was between them. Dorian’s soul, his magic was like that of an Elvhen child, boundless and energetic, with a slight hint of control. 

He moved deeper, to the heart of the flames. There emotions swirled in an endless dance amidst the lights. Orange, of course, was the foremost color, but if you went passed the orange flames, his inner self was anything but prideful. Green was the most prevalent, but that stemmed from how much Void magic was surrounding him. 

Banal moved on, trying to follow the tugging in his chest. Reds, anger flashed and flared around golds. Anger and jealousy…Banal furrowed his eyebrows as he pulled back from Dorian’s chest and stared at the human. “You are angry…” He paused to metaphorically feel the flame. Glimpses of himself this morning flooded his mind. “You are angry at me, but also…jealous?” 

That was the strange thing. Banal couldn’t think of anything that he had done that morning. He was just getting his hair brushed and his clothes picked out by Vhena. Not something that was upsetting. He looked off to the side. His eyes caught on the faint blue shimmer his bond mark made in the light. 

His eyebrows went up as he made a surprised “Oh” sound. He turned back to the human who was watching him warily. “You just realized I was bonded.” Dorian winced at how the elf hit the nail on the head in one guess. It sounded stupid to say it out loud. Then Banal looked confused. “Do…humans not like multiple partners?” Banal tried to ask delicately, unsure of where solid ground was. 

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows like it was a strange question. “No, well, sort of. In Tevinter, so long as you keep it to your slaves, everything’s fine. In Orlais I think it’s a must to have at least one affair, but still scandalous if you are found out.” 

“Why?” 

“It…” He struggled to think of why exactly it was frowned upon. “It goes against the vows you say at your marriage—“ 

“I’m not married.” Banal growled. “I have never been married. I’ve had eight children and all but the last two have different mothers.” 

Dorian gave a questioning look. “Explain the difference again?” 

Banal sighed loudly, mist forming even as the frost retreated back into him and his eyes returned to normal. “Marriage is alliances and heirs. If I was married, I’d be married to a noblewoman who stood to gain from my house. “Bonding is…love I guess. It is a sacred vow, and ritual that takes two souls and makes one. 

Dorian tried to get that difference straight. It was a strange concept to be sure. “Well, for humans, it’s a mixture I suppose.” Dorian rubbed the back of his neck in thought. “Most marriages are to better your family, but…Orlais and Antiva aside, relationships outside that marriage is forbidden.” 

Banal blinked and shook his head. “ _Shemlen_ ,” was the only thing he could think to say. He supposed for beings who lived short lives, staying faithful or content to one person might be easier than if you spent centuries, but only if you stayed in love with them. It seemed beyond stupid to him, though. “Am I allowed to explain, or are we going to pretend?” 

“Since when are you the one wanting to talk?” Dorian cocked an eyebrow at the elf. Perhaps that brandy worked miracles on his temper. 

Banal snorted, “Believe me, your surprise is overshadowed by my own, but I recall a particular human wishing for us to talk. I believe he said, ‘because otherwise nothing gets solved’.” 

Dorian sighed, realizing the elf had successfully mirrored how everyone got him to do things: repeat your target’s words so they have little argument. He downed his glass of wine in a few swigs, preparing for one of the most terrible conversations he would ever have. Banal’s hand snatched the bottle of wine away. 

“Get drunk after I enlighten you about Elvhen culture, yes?” 

“Fine, have it your way, but I’m drinking that whole bottle afterwards.” Banal frowned, but didn’t protest. He supposed he wouldn’t be in a great mood after finding out his lover was secretly bonded. 

“Do what you wish.” Banal shrugged as he looked back up at the sky. Where the hell to begin? He supposed he should just clear the air about one thing. “For the record, I didn’t remember I was bonded until a few weeks ago.” 

Dorian gave a puzzled frown. You would think something that important would be hard to lock behind some weird mind-fuckery. Banal chuckled as he watched the human stare at him questioningly. 

“It seems most of the memories affected by the block revolved around my bondmate, thus me not remembering I even had one.” He was still trying to figure out why that was the case, but no need to bare all his dirty laundry. “Also for the record, Elvhen did not mind multiple relationships, well my generation anyway.” 

“They were completely fine with sharing bondmates and spouses?” Dorian asked sarcastically, finding it hard to believe that a people who were as strict as Banal’s would be alright with infidelity. 

“For the most part yes,” Banal shrugged. “My parents’ generation started it. Before, and keep in mind many centuries or even millennia part generations, before when you married, you bonded. Thus a marriage of alliance was a bonding too; it was not sacred. The bonding was just a way to ensure you honored your bargain at the cost of soul shattering pain.” 

“What changed?” 

Banal got a little smirk, “People did. People got tired of having to put up with someone they did not love. They eloped with their lovers, bringing a third or fourth person into the bond. It got to the point the older generation had to plead with their children to marry, and many bargains were struck. Thus marriage became political and bonding became sacred.” 

He was skipping a lot, of course. A thousand years’ worth actually. There were sometimes small wars fought by a slighted or scandalized family, a few kidnappings, and at least one duel to the death until a handful of Love spirits offered compromises. Over the centuries, it became a sacred and religious thing to bond, and laws were passed to keep unapproving and prudent parents from stopping or faking bondings. 

“There were still old fashioned people out there, the ones that said men should not lie with men, or women with women, or if you are born with a vagina you are female, and so on, but when you mark ages by centuries you have quite a bit of time to progress in civil rights.” 

Dorian tried to imagine such a place. He, of course, couldn’t, given that it was hard to fathom centuries as a marker. “Surely there were protests of such conduct?” 

“Of course. But it was put into law by the Sun King, the Emperor. He had been lucky enough to marry his love, and wished others to do the same. At first, I’m sure there were drastic measures taken, locking up children hoping they would come to their senses, assassinations, even a few tried to blackmail or otherwise coerce one party into bonding. 

“Which is why it was terribly and ridiculously hard to get a bonding approved. So many hoops to jump through.” He shook his head as he sipped his brandy. At the time of his father’s bonding there were maybe fifteen steps. At the time of his own bonding, there were forty-five. An’nas and Tahon’s had to have at least fifty hurdles, if not more. More seemed to get added as people thought of ways to bypass the previous ones. 

“Like?” Dorian leaned his head against his hand as he watched Banal. While the topic was strange, he was fascinated by how such an old culture was oddly better than modern day. 

Banal frowned, the corners of his eyes squinting as he thought. What would be the easiest for Dorian to understand? What was one that wasn’t laden in a long forgotten religion that worshipped nature and spirits rather than gods? 

“Hmmm…well a lot of them dealt with legal documentation, some stating that by law a mate is equal to their partner no matter rank, what’s theirs is also their mate’s. Nobles had an additional one that had to be signed by a head of their House, in my case my father and in my mate’s his mother as they were the only ones who approved.” He stopped for a second. Still that memory pained him. 

“Those shouldn’t have been too hard to fake if you wanted to force someone to bond,” Dorian pointed out. 

“True. That’s why the last step before the ceremony you had to meet, separately, a priest and a Love spirit.” Banal smirked. “And believe me a Love spirit can tell if you are lying your ass off. Also if you are being forced, magically or physically, and there was a heavy fine attached to such an offense.” 

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. Elves really did take the bonding thing seriously if there was a crime for faking one but not for desertion. “You met a priest and spirit separately or…?” 

“No you go to a Temple, sit for a few hours on the ground, and get taken to different rooms where you sit alone for a few hours in a stone chair…in a room designed to cancel all magic, so if you are magically controlled since blood magic was totally fine,” he grumbled the blood magic part under his breath before continuing quickly, “You’re supposed meditate or think about why you are there. The spirit watches, I guess, and relays your thoughts before the priest comes in, asks you a few questions, and gives you piece of paper with the vows on it if you pass.” 

“All that to get bonded?” Dorian scoffed. That was more convoluted than an Orlesian dance. Both of them chuckled. 

“Yes it was rather asinine.” Banal smiled before he looked over at the human. “But lovers have done crazier things.” 

“Still doesn’t account for why your people were fine with multiple partners inside a bond, if it’s that sacred.” 

“Well, multiple reasons. One of which is staying with the same person for eons gets to be kind of boring.” He shrugged. Sometimes it was nice to have a new partner for a few weeks or months. Even better when it got to be a threesome or foursome. Sometimes it ended terribly, reminding you of why you loved your mate. Other times it was a blast, if the other mate agreed, the third party could join in the bond. 

Dorian could see the logic he supposed, but he didn’t like it. It made it seem like Banal was just a bored house spouse who saw a nice piece of eye candy and wanted a taste. Then he noticed the tips of the elf’s ears quivering, the black returning to his eyes. Dorian quickly shut of the thinking part of his brain. 

Banal sighed, hearing that testy little noise of jealousy and anger. “It’s usually up to each pair as to whether they are okay with sleeping around. My mate was perfectly fine with me seeing other men and women,” Banal hoped he said that delicately. Dorian, perhaps because the wine was freeflowing through his veins, blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “Wouldn’t you be afraid of them falling out of love with you and in love with their new partner?” 

Banal blinked. That thought, honestly, never crossed his mind. He opened his mouth to say no, but closed it again as he thought. He’d have to explain why such a thing never occurred to his mind, or Elgar’nan’s or any bonded pair ever. And that was the hard part. In order to explain it, he’d have to explain the spell used to literally bind two souls together…which was blood magic…which Dorian was strongly against. 

He sighed again, moving closer to rest his head on Dorian’s shoulder. The human stiffened as though it was a strange gesture, but he didn’t pull away or comment. 

“The bonding is an incredibly powerful spell that literally binds two souls together. You feel each other on a whole new level. Their emotions, pain, joy, their very presence is with you always. 

“Thus, they know your insecurities. If you feel…say neglected because they seem to favor their other partner, they will know. And you might get the overwhelming feeling of being loved unconditionally, or they might show you how much they love you or whatever is true to them. It is very hard to feel insecure or unwanted in a bond.” 

Dorian snorted at how fairytale romance that was. “Sounds like something out of a storybook, or one of Cassandra’s novels.” But it did sound lovely. 

Banal laughed, “I suppose it is rather fantastical, but there are reasons why it was considered sacred above everything else sacred. It wasn’t something you did for a fling.” 

“But what if they did fall in love with someone else?” 

“The pair might discuss bringing the other into the bond, like Nenara and Rithara. Nenara loved all three of her wives, and they loved each other, just in different forms.” Banal spoke quietly about the two who were now dead. “Rithara, Nesiara, and Atheriel loved each other romantically or in Atheriel’s case, platonically, but never sexually. But all four were bonded. 

“Besides, _lathlin_ , recall what Sula said: bonds are meant to bend, to be mended. They are not so fragile as to shatter at one jealous rage.” 

Dorian looked down at the Inquisitor. “And your bondmate? What would he think of me?” 

At that the elf laughed, “I rather think you two would despise each other actually, but that is neither here nor there.” Banal sobered quickly, that stupid twinge of pain coming up suddenly to ruin his good mood. Dorian’s arm wrapped around his shoulder again. “Besides, if you’ll notice, my mark doesn’t exactly feel like me now does it?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Remember the exchange Tahon and An’nas did just before we marched on Adamant?” Banal asked quietly, staring out to the faintly glowing snow covered mountains around them. Dorian’s fingers played with the knot on his arm for a few moments, magic prickling. Before he could utter a word, Banal offered up the explanation, “A war started, we on opposite sides. That was the last pleasant exchange we had. Ever. So you have very little fear, _lathlin_.” 

Dorian noted how far off the elf seemed. “Did he die?” The elf paused. 

“No, the bond did.” Banal didn’t like it, but his voice waivered as in sudden clarity he remembered his soul being ripped in two. Rather like having his heart cleaved in two it was. The world became grey, his morality even more so. Pain was about the only thing he understood and soon that became his comfort. 

The human held him closer as a shudder wracked his frame. “Is that even possible?” Dorian asked quietly. He turned his head to kiss the elf’s hair. While it solved the fear of some other man suddenly appearing and waltzing off with Banal, the pain it caused him hurt quite a bit more than it relieved him. 

“A bond can be severed, illegal and cruel of course, but possible. It shatters the soul, and you are left with very little, so you become this husk that knows nothing of compassion, love, or kindness. The world is dark and grey, and pain is the only thing you know.” 

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows at how despondent Banal sounded. He turned slightly, wrapping the elf up in his arms. His chin laid on top of his head, orchids and fire dancing up. 

Such a powerful spell would, of course, have powerful repercussions if broken, but to live through it? Things like that usually killed someone or drove them insane. Yet Banal seemed fine, amnesia aside. “You don’t seem to be a husk,” he noted quietly, “How did that happen?” He didn’t expect an answer, or a serious one anyway. 

“Perhaps part of the bond fixed itself,” Banal mumbled, “perhaps the heart can love even when it’s shattered. Perhaps time does heal all wounds.” He shrugged as though it didn’t matter. In a way it didn’t. He had become more than what he was, more than Mahviiral and more than just Banal. It took a great deal of time, but he had gotten there. He straightened to look at Dorian very seriously. 

“If the mark bothers you, I can not wear it,” He stated simply. Dorian blinked. 

“If it means that little, then why did you to begin with?” He cocked an eyebrow, wondering how he was able to part with it so easily. Banal sighed, eyes looking to the ground as though he was ashamed to admit something. 

“When Vhena was young she carried this stuffed toy I’d gotten her everywhere. When she was upset, she would hug it and cry or brush it or something. An’nas had a blanket he would hide under.” 

Dorian looked puzzled at the strange topic change. “What does this have to do with you?” 

“Listen,” Banal growled. “Even now, they revert back to those old habits if they are pushed enough. An’nas will hide under his blankets if he is angry or distraught. Vhena will hug a pillow or brush or sew. All things they did as children to make them feel better or safe.” 

“So?” 

Banal sighed loudly, “So, I suppose the mark is my habit. It reminds me of simpler times, of a time where I did not question that I was loved, I did not feel like an outcast. It brings peace I suppose, a sense of normalcy.” 

Dorian chuckled as he placed a soft kiss against Banal’s forehead. “And you doubt, amatus?” 

“I know that once Corypheus is gone, I will targeted. People will want me leashed or destroyed and people…will leave.” Dorian pressed his forehead against the elf’s with a smile. 

“I think you give us too little credit, Inquisitor, and I don’t think you realize just how stuck with us you are. As though I’d leave you. Why you’d fall to pieces if you didn’t have my velvety voice to soothe you.” That got the elf to snort. He was about to say, he had gotten on just fine for the six thousand years before meeting Dorian, but he figured he’d let that jibe slide. 

“So can I get drunk now?” Dorian asked as he pulled back. “I think we both need the alcohol if we are going to continue to sit on this freezing mountain.” 

Banal rolled his eyes, but handed the wine back before going back to sipping his brandy. He wasn’t going to get another glass down, he knew that much. A few thousand years certainly gave the blood a kick that was more intoxicating than the alcohol. Dorian on the other hand, drank the whole bottle of wine while they looked for constellations. In the end, Banal had to half carry the human up the stairs to his room. The human wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t exactly sober either. And he almost fell down the stairs once, so Banal slid up to his side and guided him while balancing for two. 

That was when Banal found out that a tipsy Dorian liked to touch. Banal frowned as he felt a hand slide down his torso to rest on his hip. “Hands to yourself when you’re drunk,” he growled as he squatted the hand away. Dorian only chuckled. 

He was sober enough to know what he was doing, but drunk enough to think that pestering the elf was a good idea. “You didn’t seem to obey that rule before.” 

“Do as I say, not as I do.” 

“Now that’s not fair,” Dorian pouted as they came to the Inquisitor’s door. The elf rolled his eyes as he snapped his fingers and opened the door. He was a bit too busy with the human leaning on him and fending off wandering hands. 

“I’m a god, Dorian, or was; I don’t have to play fairly.” Banal pulled the Altus into the room, kicking the door shut. He let his head be turned, his mouth be covered, his lips be sucked on. He even kissed back, though refusing to open his mouth. Dorian pulled back with a pout. 

“You are no fun,” He whined as he removed himself from the Inquisitor. 

Banal smirked, “And you are drunk. I suggest trying again when you are sober. You are less lecherous, and more likely to remember it.” He turned and walked up the stairs, knowing full well Dorian was gazing at his rear. 

“Lecherous! I am not a lecher,” Dorian defended as he slowly followed. 

“Says the man who tried to grope me on the way up.” Banal teased, turning around to make sure he didn’t fall on his face. It was a rather pretty face. He cocked an eyebrow at the sly grin the human wore. 

“I was merely putting my arm around your waist for balance, amatus.” 

“Uh-huh, that’s why you gave a squeeze?” Banal crossed his arms. When Dorian just smiled, eyes roaming where they pleased, Banal rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Bed, so you can sober up.” 

Dorian chuckled, as he undid his shirt. Before Banal could even start to think of that being a strip tease, he turned his back to the human. He began unbraiding his hair over his shoulder. His ears heard Dorian’s buckles hit the floor, his boots being kicked off. And suddenly he became uncomfortable. 

For once, he didn’t really know how to handle the situation. He had apparently decided Dorian was sleeping in his room again, Void knows why. Which might not have been a sound plan seeing as Dorian was being a tease. Banal didn’t really mind drunk sex, but didn’t find it appealing unless he was also drunk, which he was not. 

His heart was being stupid too. Beating too fast and too hard for him to be calm. His stomach sort of fluttered. All strange feelings, he equated with being a teenager and awkward at sex. 

Arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him back. Dorian’s moustache tickled as he kissed the corner of Banal’s jaw. Instinctively, Banal lifted his chin. His hands continued working mindlessly down his braid. He worked very hard to keep his mind from going south along with his blood. 

“What you aren’t going to watch?” Dorian teased. “How very rude of you.” 

Banal rolled his eyes. He patted the human’s hands and said, “Bed.” 

“You first.” 

“No, that’s not how this game goes. You,” he pointed his finger at Dorian’s nose, “go first, and I come when I wish.” He got a light bite on his neck that made him jump. 

“Fine, as you wish,” Dorian chuckled. He let go and began walking to the bed. But not before he gave the elf’s ass a nice hard squeeze. Banal jumped, spine bolt upright, a small gasp escaping his lips. 

Banal’s head snapped towards Dorian who innocently sauntered over to the bed and climbed in. “Did you just grab my ass?” Banal growled, looking scandalized. 

“I don’t remember.” Dorian smirked. Banal narrowed his eyes as he ran his tongue over his teeth. 

“You are lucky you are cute.” 

*****

Early the next morning, Josephine informed him that Cole’s amulet had arrived while he was training. Knowing that giving the spirit his trinket would get rid of the low whine he heard every waking hour, Banal headed for the tavern. Most soldiers were just crawling their way out of their beds, so it was eerily quiet. 

“Weird seeing you awake this early, boss,” Bull greeted as he spotted the elf enter the room. Banal smirk. 

“I didn’t sleep last night,” He shrugged. He wasn’t tired and found no peace in listening to Dorian sleep. In fact he was restless, energetic like a child. He blamed it on the ever flowing magic he now had…also he did sleep for days on end after Adamant and had not left his Keep in weeks. He was going a bit stir-crazy. 

In fact, he was so bored, he acted upon a whim. He listened to Sera bumbling about in her room as he walked up to Cole’s area. She was muttering and cursing, throwing things around. 

“Who’s the piss-licker that took my clothes?” She growled along with other gibberish. Banal leaned a bit to see her come storming out. She held one of Vivienne’s gowns in her hand, the others scattered about her room. “What’s Lady Prissy Pants’ prissy pants doin’ in my room?” Sera yelled. 

Banal couldn’t help but snicker, alerting the Jenny to him on the stairs. “Those are Vivienne’s clothes, Sera, not Josephine’s. Perhaps someone thought you needed an upgrade?” She narrowed her eyes at him. 

“You—“ 

“I had nothing to do with it,” Banal said innocently enough. “Though you should be careful, I wouldn’t want your frills to be twisted, Lady Sera.” He chuckled mockingly before escaping up into the attic she refused to go. She shouted profanities and no doubt gave his back a few vulgar gestures. 

“Good new, Cole,” Banal started, “I have a…” He paused looking at the amulet with distaste. Humans just made ugly pendants didn’t they? “Your amulet.” He tossed it to the spirit even as he was still walking to him. Cole caught it and immediately the song quieted to a low hum. “Well go on, try it out.” 

Cole turned it over in his hands. It didn’t seem like it would do much… “Not here. I like it here. We need to go someplace that can go away if it becomes sharp.” 

Banal instantly thought of place, “So to Solas’s room it is then.” At least if Cole hates it there, he wouldn’t enter it anymore. Bonus, it would annoy the Dread Wolf. 

***** 

“So what do I do with it?” Cole asked as soon as they entered the rotunda. Banal yawned as he came up to Solas. He was already bored, but Solas paid him no mind. Instead he focused on the spirit. 

“You’ve found one of the amulets. Excellent. May I?” He reached out for the weird shaped thing. He looked over, finding no cracks or distortions that would harm the spirit. That was good; it was in fact a real amulet. “It is simple enough. You put it on, I charge it with magic, and you should be protected.” 

“Whoa, whoa, wait a moment, Fen.” Banal interrupted. He glared suspiciously at him. “You charge it with magic?” Solas sighed loudly. “You bind Cole? How stupid do you think I am?” 

The two ancient elves glared at each other for a moment. Cole shifted uneasily. He could hear the hurt that was so old he didn’t understand it. It was gargled and covered in cobwebs that stuck to him as he tried to see why the two hurt and hated. 

“This will not bind Cole, merely protect him from bindings,” Solas got out through gritted teeth. Banal raised an eyebrow. 

“And as we discussed before when you suggested the amulet, I say it will not work.” He also didn’t trust the Dread Wolf to not use Cole’s dependency on his magic for his own advantage…somehow. Not that he understood what went on in Solas’s head half of the time. The man gave his orb to a darkspawn for the Void’s sake! Banal tried hard not to think of the many dirty jokes he could make out of that; what could he say? He was that bored. 

“And how do you know it won’t?” Solas challenged. Banal crossed his arms with a frown. He thought a moment about his instinctual feeling. Cole…sounded different than another spirit. Spirits usually didn’t give off songs, just this weird twinkling sound unless they were demons then it was a blaring siren. Cole, almost seemed human though his song was melodic in ways a mortal was not. 

But trying to explain that to Solas was like trying to explain it to anyone who did not hear the sound. He sighed, “Call it instinct, a perk of my power. But fine whatever, it’s going to hurt when you turn it on.” 

Solas rolled his eyes as he prepared the amulet. Cole put it on his shirt, hope radiating off him like bells. But as Solas closed his eyes to charge it, he felt something push back. A loud pop sounded with Cole’s yell around the tower. 

“What was that?” Varric asked as he walked in, drawn by the spirit’s yell. “Oh, for…what are you doing to the kid?” 

“Told you.” Banal stated simply. He did not, however, wear a smug face, just a frown. It was bothersome that he did not know how to help Cole. After all, the spirit of Compassion deserved some help after all he has done for the Inquisition. 

Cole turned to the dwarf, his face paler than usual. “Stopping blood mages from binding me like the demons at Adamant…but it didn’t work.” 

“Something is interfering with the enchantment.” Solas studied the still dormant amulet with a thoughtful expression. 

“Something like Cole not being a demon?” Varric quipped. Banal snorted. He rubbed at his ears that now had about three different agitated songs blurring about in them. The feathers in his loose hair brightened, an audible chime coming off them. But even that didn’t easy the sound. Banal began to twitch in his spot. The three didn’t even notice. 

“Regardless of Cole’s special circumstances, he remains a spirit,” Solas stated firmly, hands behind his back. 

“Yes, a spirit who is strangely like a person!” 

Banal scratched his cheek. His eyes caught upon how black his nails had turned, their tips sharpening into claws before his eyes. He crossed his arms, hiding his hands. Still he felt the coldness start to spread through his limbs. 

“I don’t matter,” Cole said as he paced. “Just lock away the parts of me that someone else could knot together to make me follow.” Varric’s eyes happened to flicker over to the Inquisitor. His body language screamed tension. The markings had grown dark, not black, but no longer transparent either. He was watching their trio with eyes of a caged predator. 

“Uh, I think we should tone it down?” Varric said quietly. Solas turned from his instructing Cole to see the Shadow starting to pin his ears back. 

“We can handle this, Inquisitor, if you wish to leave,” He stated calmly. Banal’s eyes flicked to him. His pupils were already slits. Suddenly Solas remembered seeing the demon that lurked beneath the calm demeanor for the first time. 

It was at a masquerade ball when they were young. Elgar’nan had snuck Mahviiral into it, giving him a mask and introducing him to Solas while he had to dance with other nobility. Solas wasn’t nobility, just a scribe in the Libraries, but it was enough to be allowed to attend. His first impressions of Mahviiral were that he was dazzling, in appearance and personality. 

Very few people couldn’t be dazzled by the strange markings or the subtle grace he held. Had he been born of low rank or not Elgar’nan’s soul twin, his family might have just sold him to a dance hall or noble house. And he would’ve had a bidding war too. 

But his personality was pleasant, a sharp tongue, sharper wit, and the ability to see through bullshit a hundred miles away. He hardly acted like a nobleman’s son, at least in Solas’s naïve mind. They discussed philosophy and history, magic theories, and old texts for most of the night. Solas would admit he liked Mahviiral; he was a good match for his friend, calm where Elgar’nan was brash. 

Then Mahviiral started acting like he was listening to something. He tilted his head sideways, tips of his ears quivering. His pupils were wide. In a blink, they turned to slits. His head snapped to the side, eyes frantically searching for something. Those markings darkened. Dread and fear and power settled over the room. The temperature plummeted. Even the candles and magelights struggled to penetrate the sudden gloom. 

Solas blinked and Mahviiral had vanished from in front of him. Gasps of shock sounded from the other side of the room. There the dark elf was gripping Elgar’nan’s wrist as he raised a chalice to his lips. Snow fell from the very air. 

“Warm, soft blanket covering, but it catches, tears. I’m the wrong shape…” Cole interrupted his thoughts. “There’s something…” He turned and pointed. “There. That way.” 

“Alright, kid. Get Cullen and work with him on the map to figure out where you’re sensing something wrong.” Varric told him. Cole hesitated for a moment. Banal’s ears pinned back again. 

“Will you come with me? All of you?” Cole asked quietly. 

“Sure, kid.” Varric waited for Cole to disappear through the door to the Commander’s tower before speaking again in a hushed tone, “Alright, I get it. You like spirits. But he came into this world to be a person. Let him be one.” 

“And what do you suggest, Varric?” Solas snapped back. 

“I’m not saying we do nothing, but that ritual of theirs only works on demons, right?” 

Solas sighed, turning to the dwarf. “This is not some fanciful story, child of the Stone. We cannot change our nature by wishing.” 

Varric smirked and looked over at the still silent Inquisitor. “You don’t think?” Banal looked to the side under their gaze. “How about you, Smiley? Can we change who we are?” 

Banal sighed, letting a cloud of mist come out. With it, frost crackled over the stones, snow started to fall into his hair. He frowned again, shaking the white stuff off. “From personal experience, Varric, we can’t change what we are.” He motioned to himself, black starting to bleed from his Anchor. 

“But your son, Speckles, said you guys used to believe you were once spirits that became human or elfy or whatever.” Varric countered. 

“Spirits are not bound to the same laws as corporeal beings, Varric. They are bound to an idea.” He looked towards where Cole left, “When Cole came to this side, he chose what he was to become. He is still bound to that idea, but has yet to pick his form.” 

Varric smirked at Solas, “See? Even Smiley agrees with me…I think.” 

Banal turned back to them, “To make him more spirit would make him forget Cole. He would be Compassion once more, though in a physical form and there is no guarantee he retains his mind and will never corrupt himself.” Funny how Cole’s situation was similar to his own. Did he let the spirit in him rule his life or try to live as normal a life as possible with some weird eccentricities? “On the other hand, letting him be human might destroy Compassion, or it might do him some good.” 

“However we deal with the problem,” Solas’s tone hinted at annoyance or perhaps anger, “our next step is to track down whatever is interfering with the enchantment.” 

“It’s in Redcliffe.” Banal stated quietly. 

Varric blinked, strange how Smiley could pinpoint it when Cole could only know a vague direction. “And, uh, how do you know?” He wasn’t going to understand any of it, but hey what the heck? Might as well ask the question. 

Banal shifted on his feet, staring at a map Solas had on his desk. He shrugged one shoulder. “I look at it and I feel a pull, an urge to grab Cole and go down there, but I don’t know what there is to find.” 

Right…weird spirit-elf magic…not creepy at all. 

***** 

By ten, the group was down in Redcliffe. They followed Cole as he walked around the small village. Banal was still agitated, keeping a wide berth from the group. But he was no longer causing it to snow, so that was a good sign. 

“What exactly are we—“ Banal started before clutching his head in pain. He doubled over as a high pitched whine shot directly through his skull. He felt like his brain was going to implode. He could feel someone touch him, see Varric’s and Solas’s mouths moving, but he could hear nothing but the squealing. 

Black overtook his scleras before he could even feel the cold spreading through him. His eyes darted everywhere, looking for the source. He could feel and hear a thousand different stories, each a song that jumbled his head. But he was looking for the garbled mess of a Templar. 

His eyes fell upon him just as Cole began to angrily stalk towards him. Banal’s ears pinned back at the rage. Wrong. Compassion did not know hate, anger. When Cole suddenly became like a shadow wraith and got the Templar to the ground, Banal shadowstepped forward. 

“You killed me!” Cole growled. Banal caught the wrist waiting to plunge a dagger through the man, claws pressing against the spirit’s skin in warning. He even gave a low growl as his markings began to fill with red, blue and green. He got flashes of a dungeon, the feeling of loneliness, fear. None of it made any sense coming from a spirit. 

“What? I don’t…I don’t even know you!” The Templar stuttered back, holding his arms up in surrender. Like that would placate the spirit. 

“You forgot. You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire, and you forgot, and I died in the dark!” Cole hissed. 

“Shit,” Varric whispered as the puzzle pieces fell together. 

“Cole, stop!” Solas yelled, breaking the spirit’s concentration for a second. It was enough for the Templar to run away towards the lake. Cole glared back at him before stepping to pursue him. Banal blocked his path. Compassion took a step back as he felt the vast emptiness, the coldness that seeped off the Inquisitor. There was just a thin thread keeping him from his demon form. 

“Just take it easy, kid.” Varric coaxed, not wanting to have two angry spirits. Though, he’d take the kid’s anger over the Inquisitor’s. Banal got a little violent in his rage. He stepped in between the two, his chest hairs standing on end as he got closer to Banal. 

“He killed me.” Cole yelled. “He killed me. That’s why it doesn’t work. He killed me, and I have to kill him back!” 

Banal could have laughed at how simple the logic was. Rather like a child’s way of thinking, which made sense given how little Cole knew about the physical world. 

“Cole, this man cannot have killed you. You are a spirit. You have not even possessed a body,” Solas tried logic, seeing as the spirit had apparently went off the deep end. Banal was just waiting for him to turn into a demon, honestly. 

“A broken body, bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dark dank, a captured apostate,” Cole whispered as though it hurt to remember. “They threw him into the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He starved to death. I came through to help…and I couldn’t. So I became him.” 

“Now you think killing that man will help.” Banal stated simply. Compassion often got misguided, thinking death was a compassion or mercy. But this he wasn’t sure if it was a spirit’s nature or if the human aspects were messing with Cole. All he knew was the noise was getting on his nerves. 

“Let me kill him,” Cole whispered darkly. “I need to…I need to.” Banal was half tempted to let the spirit go kill the man if it got the blasted ringing out of his ears. At this point, the grass around him was frozen and wilted. He was only surprised no one noticed and that Varric was calm enough to simply brush the flecks of frost off his shirt. 

“We cannot let Cole kill the man,” Solas whispered as Cole wandered a few feet away from them. He knew better than to think he could outrun Banal. 

“I don’t think anyone was going to suggest that, Chuckles,” Varric rolled his eyes. 

“I was,” Banal growled. “If he thinks it will help, then let him do it. The sooner his noise goes away, the better. Otherwise **I’m** going to raze the town.” 

Varric blinked hearing the demonic undertone to the Inquisitor’s voice. It sent a shiver across his skin. It was a plain miracle that Smiley had enough of his mind not to go demon in public and that he could still talk coherently. Last time he went demon, he didn’t talk at all. Small victories. 

“Your morals are questionable as always, Smiley.” The dwarf shook his head, choosing to ignore the comment. 

“The death of the real Cole wounded him, perverted him from his purpose,” Solas grumbled. 

Banal rolled his eyes. “If he was perverted from his purpose, he would’ve been a demon of rage or despair, not someone who leaves plums out for flies and gives mint to cats,” Banal snapped. “He probably thinks killing the man would be what the real Cole wanted and you know Compassion: always a giver.” 

“So let him work through it; he’s gotta learn somehow,” Varric suggested with a shrug. Banal sighed loudly. 

“Do that and he might really become a demon and I have to kill him anyways.” 

The dwarf shook his head. “Just leave it to me.” 

“He must forgive,” Solas argued, “It is the only way to regain that part of himself.” 

“You don’t just forgive someone killing you.” 

“You don’t. A spirit can!” 

“Ugh, enough!” Banal snorted, the songs suddenly starting to blend with the whining. He felt his teeth lengthen as familiar itch under his skin crawled between his shoulder blades. Both of them jumped, even Cole turned around to look at the Inquisitor. Banal’s breathing was agitated, quick. From how dark the markings were, he was very close to breaking. He needed this done, and it done now. Otherwise, Josephine was going to have a hay day trying to explain why the Inquisitor was part demon. 

He could see no gain from either side, tactically. Either Cole became a spirit in corporeal form or he became a human. He doubted he’d leave. In the best scenario, Cole would keep his compassionate instinct. In the worst, he’d forget. 

He had heard of spirits turning corporeal before, and each of them had to make a choice: to stay spirit or turn mortal. The Spirits would be utterly detached, staying close to their ideal, being able to travel freely between worlds. The Mortals were involved, though what they gained in emotions and beliefs, they lost in power. 

As far as he was concerned, this was a lose-lose deal. Spirit Cole would be distant, emotionless, only focused on compassion. Human Cole would not be, but he would no longer be able to choose who sees him, making him much less effective at helping. Banal sighed. If he couldn’t decide using tactics, he had to rely on his broken moral compass. That was a waste of time. So he was left to let Cole decide, which was apparently to kill the man. 

“Just let him kill the man and be done with it.” Banal growled again. “He wants to, let him do it.” 

“We can’t just let him kill someone,” Varric scolded. “But if you want him to work through it, I can help.” Banal groaned, rubbing at his temples. 

“Fine, help him get rid of the man in your non-violent way, I’m going back to beat my head against a wall.” 

***** 

“When do I stop hurting?” Cole asked as he entered the room where Solas and Varric still bickered. Banal laid across Solas’s couch with a wet rag over his eyes. His tail flicked angrily like a cat’s. He had arrived at Skyhold before the two and had just about gotten calmed down enough, when they showed back up. 

There went any shred of his control. But so far all he did was grow the shadow tail. Solas’s spot was shadowy enough for Banal to lay. He could go to his room, but the damn geas refused to let him get twenty feet away. He’d start for his room, and then he’d just suddenly be back with Solas and Varric like he blacked out and his body moved on its own. 

So he was apparently stuck on the Dread Wolf’s couch until this was all sorted. Joys of joys. 

“If you find the answer to that question, let me know,” Banal called out. Cole looked over at him. He could feel nothing from the Inquisitor, the Void shielding him. It was strange. But then again so was the tail swishing back and forth. 

“Come on, kid. Let’s go for a walk. It’ll clear your head. And give the Inquisitor some time alone.” Varric smiled. 

“Please.” Banal whined. “You two bickering is like the worst song in all of Thedas multiplied by a thousand.” 

Solas turned to the Shadow. “You are the one who came with us.” 

“I blame the geas.” 

“Of course you do,” Solas muttered. 

“The Left Hand misses a friend with two different names. She’s hurting, sad, alone, but…” Cole interrupted, “everyone can see me now. They remember. How do I put honey in Leliana’s wine without her noticing?” 

“Ask a servant,” Banal growled, another fear spiking into his brain. 

“I can help with that,” Varric motioned for Cole to follow him. The former spirit did like a lost puppy. 

“It is good that he is not entirely changed, however human he becomes.” Solas mumbled. 

“He still feels the same to me,” Banal answered. “Just a bit clearer now.” 

Solas turned to him. “Are you commandeering my rotunda, _Banal’ras ha’raj_?” Banal snorted at him using his title. 

“I am commandeering your couch, _Fen’Harel_ , I don’t care what you do.” He paused a moment, “But I swear if you start that terrible song again, I’m ripping your face off, your son’s feelings be damned.” 

Solas snorted this time. At least he took Tahon into consideration. He gathered his paints and turned to his latest mural of Adamant while the Shadow let out a long sigh as all the songs quieted down. 

***** 

“You seem…twitchy,” Dorian noted that night. Banal had disappeared for most of the day, only to be found in Solas’s office room of all places. That alone was strange. Even stranger was how when Dorian managed to coax Banal up to his room, the elf only paced the room like a caged animal. 

Banal waved away his concern. The human was trying to read, but his pacing was getting to be distracting. “It is nothing.” He just has built up energy from his episode. It took a great deal of control to stop himself from having another Crestwood. Now it seemed like that was the better option if he was going to feel twitchy and sick afterwards. 

“Something bothering you?” 

Banal sighed. He already figured it was best not to talk to Dorian about almost going demon again. The human was anxious enough about it; he didn’t need to add the fear of it happening at random. Not that it was random. Just too much shit at once. “Just…” He struggled for a lie. Suddenly his brain remembered something that did need attention. “Vhena and An’nas’s birthday is soon and I have yet to figure out a gift.” There technically it was a problem, and thus not a lie. 

Dorian eyed him oddly. “You? Give gifts?” For some reason, Banal didn’t seem like the type of father that celebrated birthdays. Or was that just his own bitter memories imposing themselves again? 

Banal rolled his eyes at Dorian’s skepticism. “I may not have always been there on their birthday, but I always remembered a gift. Vhena’s comb was one. Hell I bought An’nas that lute…I’m still sure the damn merchant overpriced it.” 

“Well if you dressed as you do now, I imagine you looked quite rich, amatus.” Banal smirked. If only he could show Dorian what was considered high fashion in his time. Sadly those clothes were either so damaged by time they were rags, or so filthy from sand he didn’t even want to try to wash them. “So what seems to be the problem? You’re the Inquisitor, you can have anything shipped here within days.” 

Banal sighed. “The problem is I don’t know what to get. I’m hardly going to buy a _shemlen_ dress for Vhena, neither of them can read common tongue, and they have enough trinkets.” 

“A lady can never have too many trinkets,” Dorian repeated his mother, not that the dark elf would know that. Banal furrowed his eyebrows for a moment before continuing to wear a rut in the floor. “Are those the only gifts you can think of? Why not something practical? A sword? A new staff?” Dorian tried again. 

“Vhena’s staff is just fine, Tahon gave An’nas his daggers as a wedding present…” He trailed off as his eyes fell upon his own spear and armor. He suddenly remembered the day he got them. It was his first bonding anniversary, as well as his birthday (which was only a few days later). Elgar’nan and Isen conspired together to go dragon hunting with him. The spear was made from its bones while his armor’s coat and greaves were made from its hide. 

He tilted his head to the side. Dragon hunting was considered to be a rite of passage. If you could take down a dragon, then you were powerful enough to no longer be an apprentice or child. You got extra bonus intimidation points for being able to turn into a dragon as well. 

“Hmm,” Banal hummed. He did still have the locations of a few dragons, including one he could bait thanks to his followers wandering about the Approach. “I think it’s time we start adventuring again.” Banal said with a smile. Dorian watched him cautiously. That smile meant something not entirely moral was going through the Inquisitor’s head. 

“And how does that relate to your children?” 

Banal only smiled at him and climbed into bed finally. He curled up next to Dorian, head on his chest. “You’ll see tomorrow.” 

***** 

The next day, Banal darted about the keep like a man possessed. He visited Josephine, Leliana, Dagna and Harriett, Rithara, and Cullen, not even stopping for breakfast or lunch. Everyone could tell something was up from how wound up he was acting. His smile said it wasn’t anything bad, just he was up to something. 

Vhena and An’nas were both oblivious, of course. Their father could get excited about many things, and most of them were schemes that caused a great deal of trouble. Their best guess was he found some way to fuck with Corypheus. 

So when Banal started for them, they were confused by his gentle smile. “You know why he’s smiling, Sora?” An’nas asked quietly. Soralan, who was talking with the twins, shook his head. 

“Not a clue, Peaches,” The white haired man laughed when An’nas glared at him. 

“Why do you still call me that?” The bard growled. 

“When you had your first peach, that was all you would ever eat,” Soralan chuckled fondly at his irritation. One problem with having a bunch of people raise you: they all knew embarrassing stories about you as a baby. And they never let it go. Which was why he was Peaches and Vhena was Sweets. Forever. 

Vhena giggled, “I think it’s a cute nickname.” Her brother was not fond of teasing, and she knew it. 

“Shut it, Sweets,” An’nas growled. 

“Never, Peaches.” 

“Now, now, children, play nice,” Banal snorted as he came close enough to hear them throwing barbs. Even the best of twins had their spats. Vhena smiled and hugged him when he came close. He gave her a few pats on the head, his face showing just how uncomfortable he was with her open affection. 

“What’s got you in a good mood? Did you beat up my husband again?” An’nas quipped. He wasn’t angry. Tahon had it coming and one rule of Elvhen training was to train how you fight, so dislocations were a common thing. 

Banal smirked as Vhena let go. “Your puppy has taken to avoiding me for the time being.” 

An’nas snorted. Sounded like Tahon. He still hadn’t entered Solas’s section of the tower. “So why are you smiling then?” 

“It occurred to me that your birthday is soon.” Both of the twins’ eyebrows rose like it hadn’t crossed their minds…which Banal knew was a lie. “You can stop feigning surprise; I know you two knew and one of you has been snooping.” He gave a pointed look at Vhena who only offered a sheepish grin. She was curious, what could she say? 

An’nas laughed at his sister, “Busted.” 

Banal rolled his eyes. “I was just thinking what to get you and thought of something absolutely stunning.” Vhena leaned in, excitement in her eyes while An’nas tried to appear calm, but by the gleam in his eyes he was just as excited. “So go pack your things.” 

“What?” They both asked in unison. Why did they need to pack? 

“Go on, the dragon’s not going to wait around for—“ 

“ **We’re going dragon hunting?!** ” Echoed around the yard. Everyone stopped and turned to the twins. Soralan started laughing his ass off at their childish excitement. Banal could only blink at them, stunned by how loud that scream was. 

He rubbed one of his ears. “At the risk of having my ear drums ruptured, yes, we are, so go get your things we leave this afternoon.” His whole body stiffened as they both hugged him. Vhena even gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Thank you _Papae_ ,” She said sweetly before bounding off to her room. An’nas just smiled and went to go find Tahon. Banal watched them for a moment. For some reason that felt nice. He rubbed his chest where there was a fluttering feeling. 

“So, old friend, you wish to come?” Banal turned to Soralan, who shook his head. 

“And impose on your family bonding?” Both of them chuckled. Then Soralan sobered looking off to the side, “’Sides I wouldn’t be much help without my sword arm.” He lifted the stub for emphasis. 

Banal snorted, “Even without your arm, I’d take you over a hundred two-armed soldiers, old friend.” Amethyst eyes watched him as though the old liar found it strange. Soralan was a master at Nature Magics, trees and plants. He could probably make the whole Emerald Graves become a Sylvan forest if he wished, one arm or two. “If you change your mind and you wish to get out of this stuffy old fortress, Vhena will wish to see the Emerald Graves after we are done, you can meet us there.” Banal shrugged. 

“What’s in the Graves?” The Liar asked as they both started for the main hall. 

“Trees as far as I know,” Banal sighed. “Red lyrium was being smuggled through it from Sahrnia, so it’s merely a stop before heading on to the Lion.” He paused at the top of the stairs. 

His stomach twisted at the thought of going there. Not only was it a frozen hell from the scout reports, but he got the sense something terrible was there. Every time he looked at the map, a whine started behind his ears and something tugged at him. Like the compulsions he had in the Fade, a string tied to his heart would pull and tug him towards that land. Something big and wrong was there and he had to fix it. 

“Speaking of the Lion…I’ll need all of you to meet me there, regardless.” 

Soralan’s eyes narrowed at that. He could sense something not being said behind that command. He was far too old to take orders without a cause. “What’s in the Lion that would require all of us?” He barely understood the maps let alone know all the names for the lands. 

Banal shook his head, “Honestly I just have a bad feeling.” Seemed silly to admit that aloud. “Scout reports say the Templars took control of a keep there and the quarry.” 

Again the Liar felt something hidden. He moved into Banal’s line of sight. “What keep?” Soralan pressed. His own stomach twisted when the Shadow pressed his lips together and refused to look at him. “What. Keep?” 

“Suledin.” Banal’s voice was barely a whisper against the bustle of the main hall. Yet, the Liar’s heart stopped at the sound. His face grew paler. 

“Is it the…” 

“Bastion?” Banal finished, still looking off to the side. “Yes. It is in the same area as it was then. The heart of Elgar’nan’s Bastion is now just a keep in the mountains.” 

Soralan rubbed the back of his neck. “Suledin was impregnable. It took an entire **army** to lay siege to it, _lethallin_ , and you never got the heart.” 

Banal frowned at the reminder. In its history, Suledin had never been breached. Ever. Period. Three thousand years was an impressive track record for a fortress. It had repelled sieges and hordes of demons and pretty much everything else one could throw at it, even Banal and Sulendys’ army. 

Of course, back then, it extended down into the Graves, making the Bastion into a city. But it was self-sufficient, so starving was obsolete. Underground wells within the fortress kept the water fresh unless one could dig and find their source. Infiltration into the place was about the only way in and even then there was a huge a risk. Entire sections could be cut off to quell plagues or bottleneck invading forces. 

Granted it was smaller now and without surplus magic, taking the major defenses out. But twisting hallways, spiraling staircases all gave the advantage to whoever controlled the Keep. One rule every soldier learned was know your terrain, utilize it. Also never get stuck fighting an uphill battle. If the enemy was on higher ground, it was suicide to fight uphill. 

“I know,” Banal grumbled, “Suledin was an adept name for it. Never in our history was the heart breached.” He turned back to the Liar, his eyes hard. He did not like the idea of the Templars fucking with such a huge part of history, **his** history. Call him possessive. “I intend to change that.” 

Soralan watched him, eyes flickering back and forth as though trying to solve a tricky riddle. He had his doubts about trying to take Suledin. He had heard tales of the Shadow King’s attempt to take the Bastion, how within an hour, half of his forces were decimated. 

Yet, this was not then. He doubted the humans knew how to turn on the defenses and time would not have been kind to the walls without proper care. Plus, Banal would have better knowledge of the Keep than anyone else alive. 

“If that is what you intend to do, then you shall have my shield.” Soralan bowed as a highborn noble. “Just not my sword obviously. I mean I could still hit people with my shield, but it might take longer to kill them…” 

Banal laughed, “Perhaps we could see about making you a Sylvan arm. Come to the Graves, see if you like any of the trees there.” 

The Liar rolled his eyes. “Does anyone in this age even know how to make a prosthetic arm?” 

“We could educate Dagna…I’m sure I have a few picture books somewhere.” 

***** 

Banal left a few instructions before they departed, some for the items he wished crafted, others for what to do in his absence. Most of it centered around finding information about Suledin keep and harassing Corypheus’s forces. He got a few orders himself. 

For some strange reason they were all about not dying. 

He could only roll his eyes at the concern while he packed. Everyone was excited to get out of the Keep and move around. Some were less excited about going back to the desert. Those were even less excited about having to go to the frozen Elfblood river. Didn’t really matter in the end, though. They all got into the saddle and soon they were riding over plains and mountain trails towards the Approach. 

The trip was sure to be exciting with the twins along. Mostly because between An’nas and Vhena taking snipes at each other (and other members should they join in), Vhena starting races (which Banal always won because he could turn into a griffon), Vhena making her father braid her hair every morning, and Banal dropping several dad jokes, there was hardly a moment of peace to get bored. 

***** 

“ _Papae_ ,” Vhena all but whined, “you need to eat something.” Her father sat beside her and An’na, bent over some book. She frowned when he only snorted at her concern. Her brother rolled his eyes, knowing this was a losing battle. “You do realize you’ve only just recovered, right?” Dreaming wouldn’t sustain for long when his body was still going back to normal. 

Banal snorted again. He was fine, not cold or hot despite the cold air at his back and the fire on his face. Each day he felt stronger, calmer. Even the little headaches he had were dwindling as he just let the memories happen. If they were there, they were there, and if not oh well. His magic was starting to settle as well. It might even break his limit from before. 

“Ugh, you’re impossible!” Vhena hissed. She looked at the book, only to find its writing an indecipherable mess of squiggles. How could he read that? 

“So, what book is so enrapturing our illustrious Inquisitor ignores his own daughter?” Varric asked across the fire. Mostly they were sitting around after dinner like they usually did, talking and bullshitting in equal measure. It was interesting having the twins along, though. 

Every night they got songs from An’nas, some even in common tongue, others just a lute. Banal would roll his eyes and shake his head, despite the smirk on his lips. He might not have liked his son being a bard and a healer, but he certainly wasn’t going to make a fuss over it. At least not again. 

Vhena took over the cooking and hardly ever stopped talking. She was fascinated by everything, like she had never been outside the desert and Skyhold before. And both of them pestered their father to no end. Question after question, if he started to get too snappish with one of the other members, they would dance in and suddenly his fire cooled into annoyance. It was fascinating. 

Like a true book worm, Banal merely lifted the book up to show him rather than stop. Varric sputtered like a fish, spitting some of his drink out. 

“Swords and Shields, really?!” he coughed. 

“I apparently graduated from reading children books,” Banal shrugged. Varric looked at Dorian who had an evil smirk. 

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted you assigned my books as homework…” Varric chuckled. 

“It was a tossup between ‘Hard in Hightown two’ and this honestly,” Dorian smirked when the party collectively groaned at the mention of that dreadful mockery of a book. “At least this book has proper spelling.” 

Varric shook his head, looking back to Banal. His mouth sometimes moved as though silently sounding out a word. His eyebrows were furrowed, an intense focus in his eyes. When he turned a page, it was like he was touching some ancient and sacred tome; he even held the book open in such a way not to damage the spine. Varric had never seen one of his books treated so…sagely. 

“It’s not going to break, Smiley,” Varric laughed. That got the elf to look up. He blinked owlishly, eyes contracting to pin points. 

“It is a book, a terrible one, but a book nonetheless, Varric,” was all Banal offered. 

“Not to your liking I take it?” Varric was hardly offended. ‘Swords and Shields’ was by far the worst thing he ever wrote. That the Inquisitor was on the second one was astonishing. 

“You are far from a romantic, Varric, I suggest sticking to crime novels; you are more in your element,” Banal snorted, going back to reading. Varric was about to ask if he was insinuating that the dwarf knew more about the seedy underground world when Banal continued, “but I still find myself emphasizing with the guard captain. How does she not know there is a plot against her?” The way the elf glared and grumbled told them he was either frustrated at the characters or at himself for feeling for them. 

Everyone laughed. Books, apparently the Inquisitor liked books. Even terrible and trashy ones. Good to know in case of bribes. 

“I have a question, if I may, Varric,” Banal looked up at the dwarf with a serious expression on his face. 

‘This ought to be good,’ the dwarf though with a chuckle. “Alright, I’ll bite; shoot,” he said aloud. 

Banal’s face stayed stoic. “Have you even had sex before?” Bull choked on his water, spitting it all over Sera and Blackwall. “It’s to the point I wonder if the title was just a reference to guards rather than to body parts.” Sera laughed loudly, snorting a few times. Blackwall even started to chuckle. 

Varric snorted from how serious the elf was being. Everyone was a critic it seemed, though he’d never been called a virgin before. 

“What makes you doubt me?” the dwarf laughed. Banal looked down at the book, flipping a few pages back. He skimmed the page, flipped it back some more and finally settled on a page. His finger snaked over the page as he searched for the section. 

“For one you hardly provide details and those you do give are flowery. Secondly,” Banal looked back up with sheer confusion, “I spend more time trying to figure out what you are referring to; can’t you just say cock or whatever the common tongue for _dashalasha_ is?” 

“A what now?” Bull snorted. Elvish was so weird, and flowery. 

Vhena and An’nas thought for a moment, trying to recall the common tongue. Vhena then perked up, “A woman’s clitoris, I think is how you would translate that,” She smiled innocently despite the words coming out of her mouth. “Literally it means little shield.” 

“I’m not going to ask how you know that…” Banal gave her a suspicious look from the corner of his eye while Varric chuckled. 

“Right, I’ll just throw in some ancient elvish and get my point across.” 

“You know what I mean, Varric.” Banal snorted back with a roll of his eyes. 

"You have to cater to your readers and most of the reading populous is high society." the dwarf shrugged. 

“Your nobility is rather prudish then..." Banal frowned. "I have a ten novel serial in my library written for high society," he air quoted, "and it uses _edhis, dashalasha, edhas_ and its various parts...” 

“Are you talking about that one with the elven knight and half-demon half-dragon prince?” Vhena asked. 

“I think he was called a Wyvern, Vhen.” An'nas piped in. His hands strummed his lute, tuning it again after the road. The instrument was beautifully crafted, intricate designs carved and painted gold over the dark wood. And the bard obviously loved it dearly. 

Banal nodded, “Yes, that one.” 

Everyone blinked. “Whoa, wait a minute,” Varric held up his hands as though to stop their talks, “two questions.” 

The three looked at him. The firelight glinted off their eyes. Funny how in the shadows one could see how the three were related considering one would never think they were in the light. “Shoot,” Banal quoted. 

“Nearly every elf I’ve ever known says that word—“ 

“What word?” Banal smirked, playing dumb. 

“Eddy hiss or whatever,” Varric guessed, throwing out something that sounded sort of right. 

“ _Edhis_ ,” The three said in unison. 

Banal continued, “It means cock. You are probably used to hearing it as _fenedhis_ which means wolf cock.” 

Sera couldn’t help but laugh even if they were discussing something as boring as elvish. They shouted wolf cock in the middle of battle?! When they were hurt?! Bunch of nutters. 

“A common shortened form of _Fenedhis lasa_ ,” Banal ignored her outburst. 

Blackwall was almost afraid to ask, “Which means?” 

The elf smirked, “Basically to suck wolf cock.” He had heard other terms like fuck a tree, but Fenedhis lasa was still his favorite curse. Especially since it came around the time Fen’Harel started to rebel and was used by loyalists. That Solas was in the party made it very funny to him. 

Bull joined Sera in bellowing with laughter, “You tell everyone to suck wolf cock when we are fighting?!” 

“It is no different to me than yelling ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’,” he chuckled and turned back to a bewildered Varric. He would never look at Fenris and Merrill the same way again… “You’re other question?” 

The dwarf blinked as though snapping out of his thoughts. “You three...” Varric motioned towards the twins, “all read the same trashy novels?” Somehow that seemed odd. Especially since Smiley did NOT seem the type to even read trashy novels. 

Banal quirked an eyebrow. “They were in my library's romance section, is that so strange?” 

“You had an entire section of romance?” Dorian's voice barely withheld his laugh. He had no idea the Inquisitor enjoyed sappy romances. The elf in question rolled his eyes. 

“It's a library; it also had a history, herbalism, poetry, and classical literature section. Also a fiction section, separated into genre where the romance section was located.” 

Vhena and An'nas nodded. “We've read the entire library, not just the smut—“ An'nas started. 

“Though the smut was a favorite,” Vhena giggled, interrupting her brother. An'nas rolled his eyes. 

“Father has just read it more times.” 

“That series, though, was my favorite of the smut. But I think of it, I liked the herald and the thief one the best.” 

An'nas laughed, “I personally like the prince one.” 

Vhena pushed his shoulder. “That's because you have a prince.” They giggled and looked over at their father who was trying his hardest to ignore them. They merely waited for him to join in. 

Banal sighed at the pointlessness, though it was half-hearted. He loved talking books, even if it was with his children. ... “I'd have to go with the dragon and the demon king personally,” Banal finally conceded. Vhena gasped. 

“Oh I loved that one! Can't beat the first!” 

“You just said your favorite was the fourth,” An'nas pointed out. 

She glared, “Well yes, but that's just judging by plot and smut. The first one has the best romance.” 

Varric looked between the three, a slight smile on his face. Sure he felt confused and kind of weirded out by the nerd fest going on, but it was nice, a small glimpse into the Inquisitor's world and family. 

*****

Before long, they had sand in uncomfortable areas and the sun beating mercilessly down upon them again. How Vhena didn’t die of a heat stroke in her multiple layered armor, they would never know. 

“N’lin said it was somewhere around here…” Banal muttered as he lead the party up a sand dune. Apparently the rogue had scouted out the area with Sula before they met up with Hawke…and had enough time to find corpses, supplies and an ancient Tevinter text on dragons which Banal carried the translation of in his satchel. 

“Are we seriously going to do this?” Dorian called from his place near the back. He still didn’t like trekking through the desert. The three Elvhen had to be using some spell to not slip and slide in the loose sand. Hell, they hardly left a foot print! 

Banal smirked, “Yes, we really are. You are welcome to go back to camp, _lathlin_. I’ll draw you a lovely picture of how we killed the beast.” 

Dorian snorted at his sarcasm. “And let you kill yourself for a third time? No thank you.” He walked a few steps, trying to catch his breath. “You have a tendency of almost dying when you are left on your own.” 

“Oh please, I’ve survived far longer than any of your civilizations.” 

A dragon’s roar interrupted them. Their heads all turned up to see their quarry flying overhead. She was heading in the direction of Griffon Keep, paying little heed to her would-be hunters. Banal smiled in awe of the beast. 

“She’s so pretty!” Vhena exclaimed loudly, the thick five-strand braid swing in its ponytail as she spun to follow the dragon. “I want her scales!” The sheer level of excitement and oddly disturbing words made everyone look at her oddly. Reminded them of the first time they went dragon hunting with Banal: She’s so beautiful, I have to kill her. 

An’nas, however, rolled his eyes, “Fine, but I call her blood, maybe a few bones.” Dragon blood was an interesting alchemy reagent, or so Lotus said. Could cause hallucinations, aggression, but also could be used in many potions do to a dragon’s natural link to the Fade. Problem was not a lot of people hunted dragons anymore. 

“You can’t have all the bones,” Vhena grumbled. 

“Like you can’t have all the scales?” 

Banal snorted in amusement. By the Void, they were his children weren’t they? “Now, now,” He laughed, “There is plenty of dragon to go around.” He paused, watching as the Abyssal’s shadow disappeared over the horizon. “That said, do try not to damage the hide with lightning or ice.” 

***** 

Baiting a dragon…remind Varric to put that on the bucket list and proceed to scribble it out. Honestly, he didn’t think even Hawke, who loved dragons enough to continually kill them in the Bone Pit, would do something this crazy. 

Yet here they were, placing intestines and tail feathers into traps and actually sitting and waiting for the dragon to show up. Usually you are just sitting and the dragon shows up uninvited. Not in the Inquisition apparently. 

Vhena and An’nas both walked around anxiously, their energies free flowing between them. It was rather strange to see how they mirrored the other’s reactions. Creepy too. Banal, on the other hand, sat upon a rock in a meditative pose and just waited. His tattoos flickered slightly; his braid looked like a snake in the sand. 

The rest of them were all contemplating the insanity of this scheme. What dragon would be lured in by five bear traps? It was more likely they would attract quillbacks and varghests before a dragon. 

A roar sounded around them. Some of them winced and refused to look up an acknowledge that they indeed baited a dragon. Others like Bull and Sera did victory dances. Banal laughed, getting to his feet with his spear. 

“Ready, or not…” 

The Abyssal began to circle their area, probably thinking how lucky she was to find twelve appetizers just lazing around in the sun. Soon she turned and came barreling through the ruin. Debris scattered, large chunks flying directly for them. 

Black spread over them like a barrier. Rocks evaporated on contact. An arctic wind blew from the shield, it barely flickering as the dragon scraped it with her claws flying over. Sand flew up; the ground shook as she touched down. 

“Boss,” Bull chuckled, “you’re the best!” 

“I believe you’ve mentioned that, Bull,” Banal quipped as he readied his spear. Vhena spun her staff around a few times, the little beads clicking together. An’nas drew his daggers, rolling his shoulders. Banal waited as the Abyssal threw a fireball at his shield. 

The fire crackled over the magic, but did nothing save scorch the ground. Slowly the black dissolved, giving them a clear view of the dragon. She screeched in challenge. A challenge the five eager dragon hunters happily accepted as they ran forward. The not so eager hunters trailed after them. 

The plan was similar to the last dragon they had killed: focus on the legs to get it to the ground for Banal to hit the soft spot in the neck. With two extra mages, it seemed an easy enough task. After all, Vhena specialized in ice magic and barriers while An’nas peppered it with both lightning and daggers. 

Bonus? The twins could combine attacks. Literally. If Vhena unleashed an energy barrage, An’nas would too and the magics would fuse into little exploding balls of ice and lightning. If An’nas cast a lightning bolt, it would be encased in ice. Strange, but effectively destructive. 

Then there was the Inquisitor, having a ball. He stayed well within hitting range, but danced and weaved through attacks. At times he was nothing more than a shadow. Then he and An’nas would both pop out of stealth and hit weak points. It helped that Banal’s magic was just as wild as the dragon’s. As the dragon conjured a shield, Banal and Vivienne took up their spectral blades. The ethereal weapons cut the magic threads that bound the armor to the dragon. 

Perhaps it was the added firepower, or the added support mage, but this fight was much simpler than the last. At least they all remained conscious as the dragon tried to get enough space to flee. Too bad for it that they had An’nas. 

An’nas’s body flickered with electricity as he gathered it around him. His muscles bunched. In a blink, he shot forward like a bolt of lightning. The bard darted one direction, then another. Small cuts dripped blood from where he hit. Then he leapt into the air, lightning trying to reach the sky. A sharp turn cut him across the dragon’s back. Blood sprayed from her wings. A large chuck of membrane fell from each side. The dragon screamed. An’nas rematerialized, spinning around and sliding backwards across the side. 

“Damn, where the hell do you learn that?” Bull laughed. The bard shrugged with a smug smirk. 

“Shouldn’t we at least put the poor thing out of its misery?” Vhena asked, tucking a stray strand back behind her ear. Neither of the twins had broken a sweat from fighting, and their father was hardly winded. The rest of the gang were drenched and panting. A few areas of their clothes were singed, but between Solas and Vhena they constantly had a barrier, with Vivienne only having to help a few times. 

“Get it to the ground and I’ll show you the quickest way,” Banal shouted from the other side of the field. Vhena gave a mock salute. She gathered the magic around her. A light frost coated her, mist rolling off her. The crystals on her staff lit up. Magic flowed up their strings into the etched patterns on the Hart horns. 

She pulled back and struck upwards with her staff. A pillar of frost erupted from the ground. It knocked the dragon off balance as well as pin a wing in its frozen grip. The Abyssal screeched again. In the same moment, Banal slammed through the ice with a fireball, shattering it. The dragon hit the ground. Black bindings slithered from the sand. They wrapped and coiled around her legs and neck, pinning it. But at this point, she had so little fight left, she only strained against them weakly. 

Vhena practically skipped over to her prone form, marveling at the scales. They were gorgeous with their rusty brown speckled with green. She ran a hand over the back of the Abyssal’s neck. 

“Perhaps you should wait until after its dead, Princess?” Varric quipped, aiming his crossbow for one of the dragon’s eyes if it decided to move. Last thing they needed was Smiley’s daughter to get crippled because she wanted to pet a dragon. However, she only rolled her eyes as her father and brother approached. 

“How do you kill a dragon, anyway? It’s scales are legendary,” An’nas asked his father. Banal snorted. 

“True, but a dragon bone is hard enough to pierce its hide.” He twirled his spear around, “But if you don’t happen to have such a weapon, there is a soft spot…here,” He placed the tip at the base of the dragon’s skull. With a hard thrust, the weapon pierced through. Blood sprayed over them. The dragon went limp. “It severs the spine; it’s the reason why they usually have horns or spines to protect that area.” He explained. 

The three stepped back to look at the monster they had just put down. The twins had grins a mile wide. “So best birthday ever?” Banal asked. Suddenly he got hugged from both sides, tensing his whole body. 

The twins laughed, “Best birthday ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only Banal would take his children dragon hunting for their birthday...
> 
> Was going to include the Graves (and flower crown) in this one, but Andromeda...so I cut a few things out. Story of my life. Also you can tell where I was starting to burn out on, sorry but it's like 11 pm and I have to wake up at 6 for work, no time for rewriting parts. 
> 
> And I had to watch a bunch of videos about hand to hand combat. Banal I decided would be best at the Systema (At least those are the videos I watched while doing that fight) kind of fighting while Tahon is probably more MMA? Or maybe Boxing? Don't know for certain because I have 0 combat experience, just a bunch of videos...
> 
> As for why this chapter took so long...many reasons. One is life decided to suck, two is FFXV came out (that alone took a month), three I had to switch computers and get enough $ for Microsoft office, four life sucks, and five I had no motivation for the majority of the time. Oh and six I need to have a job to pay bills and this sadly does not pay. Hope you all get it and thank you for understanding and being patient.


	29. Niceness Before Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sightseeing/date time in Val Royeaux plus a dragon! No big deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like by the Void and spirits above! Nothing has 252 subscriptions! I freaked at that number. 252 of you guys love the story enough to get emails or whatever whenever a new chapter hits? Seriously? I feel all warm and fuzzy inside :D
> 
> Warning: one kinda dark flashback in the beginning/middle area. Oh and just an fyi but my personal headcannon (or whatever you want to call it) is the Ancient Elvhen high fashion or just fashion in general was aesthetically similar to the Chinese Hanfu (if I'm using that term incorrectly I apologize, that's what the term I found), so clothes from the Han era, possibly the Japanese kimono and the Indian sari in some parts of the empire as well. If you find me on pinterest (same name) you'll see the board I use for inspiration. Thus the instrument Banal is playing is the erhu. 
> 
> ...there's a part in here...that I swore I'd never do again...I blame Miyaruu (I apparently can't spell anymore). She talked me into it and kept encouraging it. It's all your fault XD
> 
> Partially beta'd because I have no clue what parts I've sent and not sent anymore...(I'm a mess) so if you spot big oops's please let me know. Like just copy and paste the sentence or something. Big chapters, by the end of it I no longer see words and my brain says everything's fine.
> 
> I have no excuse as to why it's super late. I literally just didn't feel like writing this I guess...or we can blame the smut. Let's blame the smut XD Was going to be longer with Suledin attached, but...I'd rather do two chapters in a relatively short period of time than have to wait longer for a majorly long and confusing one.

Vhena happily skipped back to camp, braid swinging back and forth. Banal shook his head at her, trailing after. Inquisition soldiers scurried to get enough scales and bones off before the thing baked and rotted in the desert sun. 

“So what’s next?” An’nas asked from beside him. “Killing Tevinters, destroying fortresses, saving people?” Banal snorted. 

“Do you honestly think I save people? For fun?” What a mad thought! 

Varric started laughing along with pretty much everyone else. “Smiley? Help people of his own free will?” The dwarf stopped to wipe a fake tear from his eye. Banal frowned at him. He wasn’t wrong exactly, but did he have to be so dramatic about it? “I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in the world for that to happen.” 

“Even then he’d probably just sleep with anyone,” Bull commented. Apparently, the Inquisitor got frisky when he was drunk if the tales Varric was telling were true. Dorian tried to keep a straight face. 

Banal shrugged, “Or I’d burn half the world. That’s an option.” 

“ _Papae_!” Vhena threw a tiny snowball that his shoulder and it melted instantly. He frowned at the water. “Nice thoughts, remember?” 

“Don’t tell me Josephine’s been telling you ‘niceness before knives’ too?” Banal grumbled. His ambassador had been saying that to him every day. Well, not so often anymore, but whenever he just got tired and wanted to murder all the nobles she’d drag it back from the dead. 

Vhena smirked, “I like that. Niceness before knives.” 

“Wouldn’t it be ‘niceness before staves’ though?” An’nas noted. “He doesn’t use knives.” 

“Flames?” 

Banal groaned as they reached the draconologist’s camp finally. The professor was muttering around as he scribbled notes down on a sand encrusted paper. He barely noticed their merry, blood-soaked band. Banal cleared his throat. 

The masked man looked up at him, “Ah, my fellow researcher! How can I help you?” 

“The dragon attacked when I placed the bait; it’s dead now.” Banal shrugged. The Orlesian strangely was not put off by the news. Instead…he seemed happy? Banal’s ears twitched as another tittering happy noise joined with the twins’ song. 

“She attacked? How wonderful!” Fredric scrambled for a new sheet of paper. He was excited? Banal cocked his head to the side. Why did he suddenly hate the Orlesian less? “You had a firsthand view of her behavior! Did you take any notes on her aggressive posturing?” 

“Not—” Banal tried, but the human was already continuing. 

“I suppose you wouldn’t have.” He paused long enough to think before laughing. “No matter! I would very much like to interview you—at a later time of course! I could join your Inquisition. My expertise could be of use…” 

Banal held up a hand to stop the rambling man. He was getting a draconologist; he didn’t care if he had to carry the man on his back in a sack, he was getting a fucking draconologist. The man studied **dragons** for a living. A smile crept out, a giddy child-like smile. “Professor Fredric, you are perhaps the only Orlesian I will ever say this to: welcome to the Inquisition, I look forward to working with you.” 

Varric made a dramatic gasp. “Smiley, someone somewhere just died!” Banal glanced down at him with an apathetic look. 

“I hope it was as painful as your jokes.” 

“Ouch.” But the dwarf was still laughing. Who cares? Banal got a dragon expert. He turned back to the professor. 

“Perhaps when I return to _Tarasyl’an_ we can discuss the dragons you’ve studied and the ones I’ve killed?” The professor’s ears might as well have perked up. He grabbed the Inquisitor’s marked hand and shook it with as much vigor as grace and poise. 

“Oh, yes, that sounds delightful, Inquisitor. I would very much love to hear about them.” When he let go, he started to pack things into his bag. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go detail my diagrams before too much is gone…” Banal snorted. 

“I could draw you a picture, Professor.” Banal rummaged around in his own bag before producing the small journal he kept. He flipped through it until he found the page of the Ferelden Frostback. “I’ve excellent memory when it comes to dragons.” 

The professor took the book. “Amazing! This is…the Ferelden Frostback! I had heard she’d surfaced again! This drawing is superb as well, might I include it in my research?” Banal smirked. 

“I think we could work something out.” 

***** 

“So…what was that?” Varric laughed as they started for the fortress. 

“What was what?” Banal played dumb. He brushed some sand off his shoulder, but it seemed he was covered. He grabbed his braid and glared at the dirty sand in it. His next priority would definitely have to be a bath. 

Varric jogged to be in front of him. The dwarf walked backwards, an insufferable grin on his face. “That. You just welcomed an Orlesian, shook his hand, and did everything politely. Who are you?” 

Banal rolled his eyes. “He studies dragons, Varric. Dragons. I like killing dragons as nothing else in this world gives me much of a challenge.” He shrugged as the dwarf fell into step with him. “If an Orlesian is how I get to kill more dragons, then I will pay that price.” 

Varric shook his head. “You could just let me believe we’ve made progress on you, you know?” 

“Progress? What progress is there to be made?” Banal scoffed. 

“Smiley, when we first met you scared the piss out of me more than Cassandra and Aveline put together.” Varric looked back at Cassandra. “You remember, Seeker.” 

Cassandra grunted, “I wanted to strangle you every time you had to have common decency explained to you. It was like trying to pull a bear’s rotten tooth.” Banal furrowed his eyebrows. 

“He was that bad?” Vhena asked from in the middle of the group. She didn’t think her father would’ve been too bad after Falon’Din, but perhaps he regressed in Uthenera. 

“Princess, he was the most foul-tempered elf I had ever met, and I know Fenris.” Varric joked. “Every day I had to think of new ways to describe him and his ‘I don’t care about any of you’ attitude.” 

Banal frowned, “For one, I was not that bad, and for two: why did you need to describe me?” 

“For when I put all this shit into a book.” Varric shrugged, “I think I once said he was about as likeable and sociable as a dragon’s ass.” Banal blinked. What the hell did that even mean? Everyone else seemed to find it hilarious though. His frown deepened as he glared daggers at the dwarf beside him. 

“Might I remind you, Varric, I can turn into multiple creatures capable of swallowing you whole.” Varric’s back stiffened. 

“You got better, honest, Smiley; now you at least attempt at conversation.” From the look he was getting, the Inquisitor was not impressed. “You wanted to kill someone’s pet druffalo, Smiley, you were really bad.” 

Vhena made a disbelieving noise like she was shocked and horrified. Banal looked back to see her mouth open in total outrage. “ _Papae_! It’s someone’s pet! You don’t kill people’s pets!” Banal rolled his eyes at her. 

“It’s a useless pet, and I didn’t get to kill it. The other three made me take it back to the farmer.” Banal grumbled. “I got the white streak back because of it.” Sometimes he still thought it would’ve been better to have never remembered anything. He wouldn’t have to contend with his children at least. 

“And I had to act as his moral compass since he apparently didn’t have one,” Varric continued as the fortress came into sight. 

Banal snorted, “I have a moral compass, Varric; I just choose to ignore it.” Varric motioned towards him in ‘case and point’ fashion. Vhena sighed. Before anyone could tell his daughter more stories about his apathetic ass, Banal spotted a very large brown wolf fighting off a varghest. “Looks like the puppy found some trouble.” 

An’nas shaded his eyes. Tahon snapped the beast’s neck in two, muzzle dripping blood as it looked up at them. An’nas laughed as he began to jog to his husband. The big wolf’s tail wagged. He spun in a circle before gold and green light enveloped him. The wolf formed into the lanky duelist. “ _Hallalin_!” Tahon threw his arms wide. 

“ _Fenlin_!” An’nas yelled back as he tackled him to the ground. “How’s that?” 

Tahon laughed, “You are getting better at greetings.” He paused long enough to get a kiss. “Take it your birthday was exciting?” He looked back at the group who was patiently waiting in the shade. 

An’nas bent down further, “We killed a dragon, Tahon.” He was grinning ear to ear. Yep, he was definitely Banal’s son. Tahon chuckled. 

“That was kind of the idea, _Hallalin_.” 

“If you two could hurry up your sappy reunion, that would be nice,” Banal called, working sand from his nails absently. “Or I could summon a sandstorm so I don’t have to witness it.” 

Tahon sat up, “Aw, and here I thought you liked me, old man.” Banal gazed evenly at him. “Hey, he could do worse.” Banal’s face didn’t even twitch. 

“Son of Fen’Harel, my enemy, the one who helped to poison me…how can he do worse?” Tahon opened his mouth, but wisely shut it with a sheepish look. An’nas kissed his cheek, whispering something. They stood up just as a griffon’s cry sounded from the sky. It was strange that they now knew the distinct sound of a griffon despite the bird beast being dead long before their time. 

Sand flew everywhere as the golden beast touched down. Sulahn’mi dropped down before pulling a squirming man off from across the saddle. The man, well Venatori if his outfit was anything to go by, groaned as his back hit the sand. Sula’s chirps were muffled from her face mask as she yanked him to his feet. A shove nearly brought him to his knees again. 

“My, you must have pissed her off something fierce to get that rough of treatment,” Banal murmured as Sula tried pushing the struggling prisoner to his knees. When that didn’t work, she kicked out one of his knees to make him kneel. The air shimmered with her non-magic, little flames dancing around the man. He swallowed bile as he looked up at the Inquisitor. 

Nehnlin turned back to his normal form, with the same pissed off look. “Found out where the darkspawn were coming from.” He jerked his head towards the prisoner. “This little fuck had an expedition going on in a fortress up there, opened a tunnel into the Deep Roads or something, didn’t bother to close it back up.” 

Banal cocked an eyebrow. “What sort of idiot doesn’t close up a darkspawn tunnel?” 

“The kind that also infects giants with red lyrium.” Nehnlin grumbled. Everyone blinked. Giants…with red lyrium? That was five shades of ‘fuck no’ if there ever was one. 

“ _Nuva uralas telsyl na i’ga syl nyel laimem,_ ”(May nature strangle you with all the air you’ve wasted) Banal growled. “What in the name of the Void were they doing in the fortress anyway?” 

“I honestly think they were trying to get Griffon’s Wing Keep back,” Sulahn’mi said as she removed her face mask. A fine line of dirt marked where it once was. “The darkspawn were just cannon fodder.” 

“At the risk of being hit in the head again,” the man spoke up. Sula’s lip curled as she glared down at him. “I was looking for artifacts…without Corypheus’s consent…” 

Banal cocked an eyebrow. “You’re stealing from Corypheus? I don’t know if that’s stupidly brave or bravely stupid…what’s your name, _shemlen_?” Banal gazed down at him like he would an insect. 

“Servis of Minarathous—” Dorian groaned when he heard the name. 

“I thought you looked familiar.” Servis glanced to him, surprise fake of course. “Shouldn’t you be trying to smuggle some fork out of the ruins of Arlathan?” 

“Ah, Dorian of House Pavus; I had heard you were—" 

“You are losing my interest very quickly Tevinter,” Banal interrupted, “and I shouldn’t have to tell you why that is a terrible thing to do.” The human jumped. Fear danced around the air, shrill notes compared to Sula and N’lin’s steady drumming of anger. Banal’s ears pinned back as the colors began to bleed into his markings. 

Servis paled at the venom hidden behind the calm words. “Ah, yes, Your Worship, I ah I was hired by a third party, you see, to excavate monsters and artifacts. I have no…have no loyalty to Corypheus…” He bowed his head, trying to control his stuttering. “Might you find that useful, Your Worship?” 

“I’m sorry, care to repeat that?” Banal chuckled. “Are you trying to bargain with me?” 

“Bargain? I plead! I throw myself on your mercy!” Servis dramatically declared, looking up with a small amount of hope. 

Banal heard Dorian snort behind him, “Always the dramatic one…” 

Servis glared at the Altus, “I also have friends in Tevinter who owe me large debts.” He looked back to Banal. “Leave what happened here behind us, Inquisitor, and I can put them all at your disposal.” 

Banal crossed his arms, shifting his weight to one foot. On the one hand, the man was a sniveling coward, but he at least knew that. And he could be useful. Just what kind of artifacts could this man uncover? None probably as powerful as a foci, but the humans might have created something useful… 

He bent down to Servis’s level and grabbed his chin. “I’ll give you one chance. I want those artifacts or whatever ones you can find, think you can do that, _shemlen_?” 

“Of course, Inquisitor!” 

“If you get me something really useful, I might consider loosening the shackles.” With that, Banal tossed his head away and stood up. “Get him back to _Tarasyl’an_ and then finish your tasks here. We’ll be headed for Val Royeaux next.” The pair nodded before he began walking towards the keep for more supplies. 

“You're not as bad as they make you out to be, Inquisitor,” the human laughed nervously. Banal stopped in his tracks. Sula's and Nehnlin's spines bolted as they shared a look. They quickly backed away from the human as though he was bleeding a poisonous gas. 

Banal's face twisted in insult. His jaw cracked as he clenched his teeth. “Care to say that again?” He slowly turned around, death in his eyes. That might as well have been an amazing insult, calling him weak. When his enemies and prisoners thought him weak, they would conspire; they would no longer listen and then he'd have to kill them and that was just a waste of resources. Beyond that, he didn’t earn the title of God of Corruption by being nice. 

Servis stuttered as he looked up at Death itself. Banal took one step forward. Ice fanned out from his foot. Steam rose as it tried to melt. 

“Smiley...play nice,” Varric grumbled. Been awhile since he had to try to talk him out of killing someone. Here Varric had thought he'd made progress. But the air remained murderous, like that shadow demon was coming out to play. Just the thought sent shivers down his spine. 

Banal forced a smile. He could just kill the smuggler. After all, he didn't need help figuring out where those artifacts were; he'd already gotten that information from the human's mind. Yet, he felt a little bit of his old self surfacing. 

“I won't kill him, Varric...” Banal bent down to the human's eye level. “I'll just show him how nice I can be.” Servis gulped. Black overtook the white of the elf's eyes. Magic filled the air. It was like drowning in a stormy sea, waves crashing around you, dragging you under again and again. A hand grabbed him by his collar. “Then he can tell his new prison mates all about how nice I am.” Banal dragged the human away. When Servis tried to struggle, Banal turned into a griffon, grabbed a hold of him in one paw and took to the sky. 

Vhena sighed as she perched herself on a shady rock. “Well...it's progress right?” She rummaged around in her packs for a moment. She pulled out some cloth and thread and began sewing peacefully. 

Varric blinked. “Princess, he just dragged a man away for calling him 'not as bad as he thought'.” He gestured to the black dots in the desert sky. Dots because it looked like Banal was tossing Servis around up there. “How is that progress?” 

An'nas sat down near her. “Want to build a sand castle?” He looked up at Tahon who was tracking the griffon. The duelist looked down. 

“Sure why not?” The two cast some spell to get the sand wet and started building. Varric and the others stared dumbfounded. 

“Is no one else a little bit concerned?” Cassandra asked. 

“Not really,” Vhena muttered to her cloth. 

“He's had some steady progress,” An'nas commented, “A few hiccups are to be expected.” 

“He's throwing a man around like a doll,” Varric stressed. 

“He's throwing an enemy around like a doll, Varric, and it's just a show of power.” Both twins waved the concern away. “Ask Cole: did _Papae's_ soul get darker?” 

Since becoming human, Cole had a hard time reading or hearing Banal. He was still a jumble of snakes, but the barrier was gone. The snakes unknotted themselves mostly. Cole did what he could to mend the threads between memories, but he made more noise himself and that made it harder to hear the tears. 

But Cole focused on the Inquisitor, pushing aside all the noise. “Calm, calculating, cold as the dark waters of shadows corroding away the world until nothing is left…but it fixes, finding hurts and healing, sewing shut seams he tore open…” 

Varric blinked. Right that meant what? “Is that moral compass of his still working?” Varric asked bluntly. Cole frowned. 

“Morals don’t have a compass…” 

Vhena and An’nas began to chuckle. “You set yourself up for that one…” Vhena smiled sweetly. “Cole, I think Varric is asking if _Papae_ is still himself or if the Shadow is back.” 

“Yeah, that. I’d rather not go through the Fade again…” 

“What do you mean, Varric?” Cassandra questioned. Her gaze was sharp as she stared at the dwarf. They had all agreed not to give a full report on what happened in the Fade. Omitting much of the Banal’s-half-demon shit that none of them really understood. 

“Uh…” Varric looked over at Dorian and Solas for help. 

Solas sighed to himself. “The Inquisitor wasn’t in the greatest of moods in the Fade; perhaps it was painful for him, but whatever the reason, he acted much like when we first met.” 

“He is fine,” Cole interrupted. He saw the Shadow around Banal, but it wasn’t hurting. It was just him, how he saw and heard the world, how he made ice into fire. This Shadow was light, weightless; the other was dark and heavy sludge. 

“See?” An’nas chirped. “Everything’s fine. The human just made the mistake of calling him nice.” 

“And now he’s being a griffon’s play toy?” Bull asked warily. Remind him never to give Banal a compliment. “Most people don’t try to murder others when they call them nice. 

An’nas and Tahon shrugged. The sand had started to form a decent sized fortress, complete with a moat and bridge. “Well, if an enemy thinks you are nice, isn’t that a bad thing?” 

“Without fear, they’d show no caution; no caution, no respect and they just waltz all over the place,” Tahon continued. “There is no greater insult to a warrior than to mistake honor for niceness.” 

The griffon began to make his way back to them, human clutched in his paws. As soon as they were close enough to the ground, Banal released a very pale and sick looking Servis who faceplanted it in the sand. He tried to scramble away. Banal’s paw pinned him to the ground. 

Black swirled around the griffon before shifting back into the elf. Banal’s smile was no less disturbing now than it was long ago. “Now, be a good little _shemlen_ and maybe Sula won’t drop you on your way back to my fortress, hmm?” Banal cooed, walking across the human’s back. Sula got the man to his feet before throwing him over her shoulder and manhandling him onto Nehnlin’s back. 

“I don’t know if I should be more scared of Banal or of Sula…” Dorian muttered. For such a tiny woman, Sula deadlifted a grown man like it was nothing, never mind her being a Seeker without any training really. 

Vhena snorted. “Both. _Papae_ because he can crush you with a thought and Sula because she can crush you without magic.” 

***** 

Rain pounded harshly against the windows of the inn they were staying at. A dreary day this was going to be, Banal thought as he looked out at Val Royeaux. The Orlesian city, even in rain and fog, managed to scream extravagance and bleed gold. Though the rain did make the streets muddy which made him smile a little. It splattered on white plaster and stained some hideous gown after all. 

“Good morning, Inquisitor,” Josephine called as she spotted him down the hall. “You are up rather early.” She smiled as though she didn’t already know why. Lightning lit up the sky, the thunder crackling as he glared. 

“My daughter is unfortunately a morning person and wishes to see the city.” His eyes narrowed further hearing Josephine chuckle. “Something funny?” 

Josephine hid her smile behind her hand. “Nothing, Inquisitor. It’s just as much as you complain, you still aim to please her.” Banal was wrapped around her finger it seemed, despite him claiming otherwise. It was rather cute. 

Banal snorted as he walked passed. “It’s either get out of bed, or she sits on me and chatters endlessly.” The image of Vhena sitting on her father’s chest made Josephine giggle more. “It’s not funny, Josephine.” She continued to chuckle as they entered the dining hall. 

“What’s not funny?” Varric asked as he was cutting something on his plate. Banal waited for Josephine to sit before he took his own seat at the head of the table. 

“Dorian, does Vhena sit on Banal if he doesn’t wake up?” Josephine asked, trying not to laugh. The Tevinter smirked. 

“Yes, she does indeed and gives a perfect account of everything she did the day before,” Dorian sipped from his cup just as the elf in question bounded into the room. She gave a quick peck to Banal’s temple, eliciting a grumble, and An’nas’s cheek before sitting down. 

“ _On dhea_!” She cheerfully chirped. They had all heard it grumbled and called enough around Skyhold and camps to know that was the elvish equivalent of good morning. A few said ‘good morning’ back, Vivienne in Orlesian, Josephine in Antivian, even Cassandra said it in Nevarran. Vhena smiled brightly; she was very slowly learning them all. 

“What’s on the agenda today?” She asked, perhaps the most chirper person in the world this early. Banal sat back as a plate was placed in front of him. Lotus, who had arrived a few days prior with Sama and Sula, glared a warning. 

“I’m perfectly fine without eating,” Banal mouthed. He hardly felt hunger anymore, save the nights he couldn’t sleep. Besides, it wasn’t as though he wasn’t going to eat; he just needed a little bit of time before the motion of eating seemed feasible. 

Josephine and Leliana glanced up at the two glowering elves, but continued detailing what needed to be done. 

“Your Worship, Comte Boisvert is free to speak with us today, if you’d like to accompany me,” Josephine mentioned. “Also with the rain, I imagine that whatever brought Blackwall here will be cancelled until it clears up.” 

“So that means you can take me to see the city, right?” Vhena asked. Banal stabbed his eggs with unneeded force. His daughter chuckled. “You promised you’d take us to see everything.” 

“You never expressed a wish to see Val Royeaux, just the Graves and Suledin,” Banal fired back. 

“Well, you used to live there right?” An’nas asked, accidently picking up on his twin’s excitement. “For a little while at least?” He had seen pictures of Suledin Keep, of the fortress city, but he had never actually been to it. 

Banal’s eyes dropped down to his plate; his fork tapped absently on the porcelain. “Occasionally, yes.” Vhena and An’nas glanced at each other as a low, melancholy song echoed around their father. Cole frowned, hearing it too. “But why the fascination with here of all places?” Banal smoothly recovered. And like that, the song was smothered. 

Vhena thought a moment, “I’ve never been to a city this big before.” 

Varric choked a little on his coffee. “Really, Princess? You’ve never seen a city?” 

“Sometimes, _Papae_ would take me to small villages, but never the big cities.” She smiled. 

Banal rolled his eyes, “That’s because you have a horrible habit of wandering off by yourself.” And she drew attention. A lot of attention was bad when you were trying to make sure everyone thought you dead. An’nas could easily hide; he didn’t have the eyes of the Scourge, but the eyes of Lavellan. Vhena was not as blessed. 

His daughter shrugged. “I still want to see Val Royeaux.” 

“I will take you, darling,” Vivienne piped up, gracefully cutting a perfectly portioned bite. “But you must see it at its best, so perhaps tomorrow we can visit some of the shops I’ve told you about.” Vhena’s ears perked up as she excitedly asked which ones. 

“What are your plans, Inquisitor?” Leliana asked when it was clear Vhena and Vivienne were going to hold their own conversation. Banal looked up, chewing slowly. 

He eyed her, suspicion clear in his gaze. “Is there a particular reason why you ask?” He assumed since she asked that she wanted him to do something. Luckily for her, he didn’t have any particular plans from find Blackwall. 

“I was wondering if we might make a detour up to Val Chevin before you leave for the Lion.” The Spy Mistress straightened, looking at him directly now. Banal blinked. “It’ll be a two day trip perhaps—” 

“Why? I can fly there in a few hours.” Banal interrupted, taking a sip of the bitter concoction known as coffee that the Orlesians loved to serve in the morning. He spat it back out, gagging. Every single cup he’d tried was different, some strong, others bitter as hell. 

“Do you not like Antivian coffee?” Josephine asked, smirking at Banal’s wrinkled nose. Rather than answer he sat the cup back down before wiping his tongue with his napkin. “Try some milk and sugar.” 

“No thank you,” Banal grumbled. There was no saving that cup. “Anyway, Leliana, I’ll fly you there tomorrow, hopefully the storm will have passed.” He glanced out the window at the sky. 

“Fly? As in turn into a griffo—” Cullen started. 

“You can’t just fly into a town as a griffon, Inquisitor,” Leliana spoke over her colleague with a horrified expression. Banal rested his chin on the back of his hand. 

“Yes I can.” 

“You’d scare the villagers half to death.” 

He smiled, “And do I seem like I care?” He chuckled when none of the advisors had any rebuttal. “I would’ve thought you would know by now that I don’t care about opinions or feelings.” 

“ _Papae_ ,” Both Vhena and An’nas grumbled. 

“How in the world do you keep up this apathetic attitude?” Cassandra sighed. She would never understand it. He would be the first person that should look to everyone’s wellbeing, but that was the last thing on his mind. 

Banal pointed his fork at her, “Simple: act as though you don’t care who rules the world, and the rest follows suit.” Well that explained his attitude didn’t it? Tahon tapped his plate for a moment. 

“So…old man, I’ve been wondering something,” He asked after a moment of silence. 

Banal didn’t even look up from his plate, “Yes that position is actually possible.” Several people choked at that sudden change. Did Elvhen just not care when people were eating? 

Tahon waved it away, “Nah, not that, I know it is.” An’nas choked a little, his ears turning red as he felt Banal’s eyes slide to him. Vhena tried hard not to laugh at the deadpan look her brother was getting. “I was just curious, ‘Nas said you were bonded to the Sun King.” 

Banal sighed, “Yes, I was.” 

“But was it ever annulled?” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Why?” That was the most random question ever. Why did it matter if his bonding was annulled or not? 

“Well, you defected from the Empire, created your own, but if your bond was never annulled…” Banal paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. His eyes widened for a moment. “Wouldn’t that make you ruler of Thedas still?” 

Banal sat his fork down and thought. The bonding agreement made him equal to his mate, which in their case meant in the absence of Elgar’nan, Banal was Sun King. Defecting as he did, he became the Shadow King, Emperor of the Banal’han. But if the bonding was never officially annulled… “I own Thedas…” whispered out of him with childlike excitement. 

“I’m sorry what?” Varric asked. He couldn’t of heard that right. 

“By Elvhen law, I’m still emperor of the Elvhenan. I own Thedas.” 

“What?” came from pretty much everyone who had no idea what any of those laws were. Banal smirked. This was amazing. “How can you own Thedas?” 

“Very simple, I bonded to the Sun King, the Emperor of the Elvhenan, and the bond was never officially revoked.” When he realized that these people had no concept of what a bond entailed, he rolled his eyes. “A bond essentially makes you equal in all terms. When he was not around, I was Emperor. So technically it also worked for my Banal’han, I suppose, but anyway. What he owned, I owned. Thus combined with the territory I gained in the war, and what he had, I own Thedas.” 

They all stared with mixed emotions. Some were skeptic, others horrified. How could Banal even be bonded to an emperor for one? He didn’t exactly come across as a romanceable person despite Dorian proving otherwise. And if he could actually prove it…would anyone actually believe it? 

Banal, however, was thinking hard about this. “How does one go about proving ownership over land anyway?” It’s not like the _shemlen_ were doing anything with his desert. He supposed he could aim higher and seek to prove he owned it all, but he just wanted his home. Emphasis on **his** home, not some human’s. 

Varric glanced over at Josephine when none of the other elves were butting in. The Ambassador dabbed at her lips to stall for a moment. “Mostly through documents, Inquisitor, but papers even centuries old might not have much weight now.” Banal frowned at her. 

“Not like Celene is using the Approach, nor realizes I have a fortress there, so I see no reason why she would care,” he grumbled. “Besides, the papers are in my name, not an ancestor’s, mine.” 

She opened her mouth, then closed it. How would that actually go down in a dispute? On the one hand, those documents must be ancient, so ancient they wouldn’t hold claim anymore. It’d be like some Tevinter Magister claiming his family once owned a farm in Ferelden and demand the land. 

On the other hand, if they were in Banal’s name with his signature and everything, that would make the claim more substantial. It’d be like Marquis DuRellion’s claim to Haven, but with DuRellion being the one who’s name was on the treaty or perhaps more like her family’s claim to trade in Orlais. Great, now she’d have to figure this out because it was going to drive her mad. Banal smirked, seeing his plan work perfectly. 

“So Josephine, shall we go meet with your influence monger?” Banal asked as he laid his napkin over his plate. She blinked at him. 

“It is still early…” She managed. The Inquisitor was not known for being a morning person…or really getting anything done before noon on most days. Banal rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, but idiocy usually bounces off me when I’m still half-asleep and I assume you wish for this Comte to keep his head, no?” She nodded immediately, not sure if he was being serious. Banal smirked. “Well, then lead the way.” 

***** 

“Welcome, my friends!” The Comte greeted cheerfully. Great, Banal groaned to himself, another noble who immediately thought they were his friends. At least he wasn’t trying to kiss Banal on both cheeks like some at _Tarasyl’an_ liked to do. The servant motioned to the seats opposite the Comte. 

Banal let Josephine sit first before he sat down, face deceptively neutral. The “Comte” was giving off a very odd song, one laced with deception. Banal immediately started searching through the darkness around the human. 

“Thank you for seeing us, Comte Boisvert,” Josephine started. 

“The honor is mine.” He grabbed his wine and swirled it around the glass as he spoke. “It is an honor to assist two distinguished guests.” Banal tried hard not to snort. 

Instead, he managed to keep a straight face as he said, “We appreciate your help…Comte.” The human’s eyes flickered over to him for just a second. But it was a second that told him he heard the little pause. Just as Banal heard four other songs. One was in a closet, low and peaceful as a deep sleep. The other three were hidden in the rafters, watching, calm yet anxious as hunting dogs. 

Then two more slipped in, these ones familiar. A little tap on his mind allowed him to reveal the three up in the rafters. Banal’s eyes refocused on the humans. 

“The assassin’s league?” Josephine gasped in shock. Fear bled from her. Banal frowned. He delved deeper into the Comte’s song. A flash of a symbol, knives, blood splattering, bodies falling silently, a calling card left… 

“My contacts obtained a copy of a document in their archives. A contract for a life,” The “Comte” slid a scroll across the table. But Banal would play his game a little longer. 

“The House of Repose is hereby sworn to eliminate anyone attempting to overturn the Montilyets’ trading exile in Orlais,” Josephine mumbled as she read. Her face drained a bit as she looked over at Banal. 

“My, someone really wanted your family gone…” Banal gave. “An old feud?” 

The Comte swirled the wine again. “The contract was signed by a noble family, the Du Paraquettes.” Well that was a name… 

“But the Du Paraquettes died out as a noble line over sixty years ago!” Josephine argued. Banal heard two songs go silent, the third following soon after. 

“Indeed, but the contract was signed one hundred and nine years ago.” Banal fought to keep a smile from his face. This was a lot of information from a Comte who supposedly had only heard rumors… 

“Well, they did drive the Montilyets from Val Royeaux…” Josephine contemplated quietly as though hiring assassins to kill anyone at any time trying to overturn the exile was a normal thing. And Banal thought Elvhen politics were petty. 

“Unpleasant though it may be, the House of Repose is merely fulfilling its contractual duties.” The Comte sipped at his wine before setting it on the table and crossing his legs. 

Banal looked over at Josephine with a bored look. “I assume you have an idea or two about how not to kill all the assassins and still keep your head?” Josephine frowned at his tone, but at least he was attempting to choose the less violent approach. 

He watched as her mind worked, eyes darting as she thought of a way out. “The Du Paraquettes still have descendants under the common branch. If we elevate them to nobility, a Du Paraquette could annul the contract on my life…” She shifted in her seat. 

“That will take time, Lady Montilyet. Time during which the House of Repose will be obliged to hunt you.” Josephine frowned as she looked at the Comte. Banal snorted. 

“Would they now?” She started before Banal rose a hand. His eyes were locked with the man in front of him, calm and steady as a river just before it surged and drowned all in its path. 

“And how would you know this?” Banal asked innocently enough. Before he could get an answer, he continued, “In fact, how do you smuggle this much information out from an assassin’s guild without someone noticing?” 

“It is not good business to ask how a job gets done, Inquisitor,” The Comte replied smoothly. Banal smirked. 

“Truly? Then would it be rude of me to ask how you drugged Comte Boisvert and got him into that closet?” The assassin’s façade faded instantly. “If you were a good assassin, you would’ve done your homework on your guests.” 

The man stood up, as did Banal. “I apologize for the deception, but the contract on your life is so unusual, we thought you deserved a bit of explanation, my lady.” 

“It is appreciated, monsieur.” Josephine sighed, again like this was a normal thing. Banal, however, stepped in the assassin’s path. 

“I did not come to fight, Inquisitor, just to give a warning. Might I pass?” Well he was polite for an assassin… 

“My birth mother was the Queen of Assassins, you know,” Banal smiled sweetly, “and though she didn’t want to, she did pass on the code **my** house followed.” The assassin felt ice run down his spine as all emotion left the Inquisitor’s face. “Never leave a would-be enemy alive.” 

Before Banal could strike, the assassin threw a smoke bomb and ran deeper into the house. When Banal’s eyes cleared, he stood in armor with daggers out. A whistle sounded. “Did you think I wouldn’t have been prepared, Your Worship?” But as seconds passed and no one else came to his aid, fear began to worm its way into his heart. 

Three bodies fell from the rafters. One’s neck twisted oddly, another had a dart in the throat, and the third’s eyes stared up lifelessly, bruises around the throat. Zeyras and Nehnlin jumped down silently. 

“Lotus’s new poison works really quickly,” Nehnlin cheerfully explained as he looked over at the assassin. “But it kinda has a bad smell. Unlike the one you drank, it doesn’t smell at all.” 

Banal chuckled darkly. “Never try to outplay me.” The assassin clutched his throat, froth coming out his lips as he slowly fell to the ground and stilled. Josephine’s eyes widened. When did he? How did he? For a moment words failed her as the three elves seemed to discuss the effects of the poisons. 

“How did you even get that into his wine?” Josephine managed to sputter. She looked back at the wine glass in confusion and horror. Banal didn’t go near that cup… 

“I had Zeyras infiltrate this morning; Nehnlin wasn’t planned, but I’m assuming you’re all finished?” Banal looked over at the rogue who gave an enthusiastic nod. 

“Auntie Rith finished this morning, she’s at the inn,” He winked with his one eye. 

Josephine closed and shut her mouth a few times. “What would you’ve done if that was the **real** Comte Boisvert?” Her voice raised a few octaves in sudden horror. “You would’ve murdered a Comte in his own home?” 

Banal rolled his eyes as he waved the comment away. “Josephine, if dealing with all these Orlesians has taught two things, they’d be: they are constantly trying to prove they have the bigger…package,” Banal slyly avoided vulgarity before smirking at her, “and when a guest has the bigger package, they offer them a drink.” 

She blinked a few times. Suddenly she could see where this was going. Still, Banal felt the need to continue, if only to show her he did sometimes pay attention in his lessons. 

“Had he’d been the real Comte, he’d’ve offered me the wine, which I would politely refuse given that poison could be in it; he’d then offer me brandy or another spirit and we’d both drink that.” 

She glared at him, “So you do pay attention after all,” she grumbled. He smiled innocently at her. 

“When it suits me.” 

***** 

Varric waved at Banal to get his attention from across the gardens. For a moment, the rain had stopped, draping the city in grey. A light fog danced around their feet as they walked. 

“What is it, Varric?” Banal asked as he got within speaking distance. Cassandra, Bull, and Cole were behind him, looking back at the way to the plaza. 

“That thing Blackwall was looking at before he left, they’re doing it now while the rain’s not soaking some lady’s dress,” The dwarf pointed behind him. Banal’s ears twitched as he heard a slight commotion. “Just starting from the sounds of it.” 

“Well then, let’s go see what warrants our Warden’s attention, hmm?” Banal slid passed. For Blackwall’s sake, it had better be something good. Banal was tired of Orlesians today, and he still had to put up with them tomorrow. He nearly groaned aloud at the thought. 

“Cyril Mornay, for your crimes against the Empire of Orlais,” echoed around the plaza. Banal squinted as he saw the crowd around the hanging platform. Well it was good to know people still enjoyed public executions… “for the murders of General Vincent Callier, Lady Lorette Callier, their four children, and their retainers…” 

Banal and company made their way up to the middle of the crowd, Orlesians practically leaping out of their way when they saw the Inquisitor. He crossed his arms and listened to the strange song this made. Disgust, anger, a dark happiness twittered around the crowd. He winced, rubbing his chest as the notes pulled at strings around his heart. 

“You are sentenced to be hanged from the neck until dead,” the crowd gasped, a few cheered. The prisoner, though, just looked resigned, maybe remorseful. 

Then a familiar dark song came to his ears, the tips perking up. Banal stood up on his tiptoes to see black hair moving up to the platform. Flashes of a carriage came to mind, screams, gold, then just a sense of running away from a dark shadow…He cocked his head to the side, just as Blackwall mounted the steps. 

“Stop!” The burly man yelled. A dramatic gasp followed, a few ladies touching their hands to their chests. Banal resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the pure Orlesian-ness of that action. 

“A Grey Warden,” The announcer spat. 

“This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him. Orders were given and he followed them like any good soldier,” Blackwall stated to the crowd. “He should not die for that mistake!” Banal would give him points for persuasiveness. But at that moment, Banal was a little occupied with sorting through the whirling images in his head. They started to clatter and clash over the present. 

Gold coins, soldiers lined up, an ambush in the making, a child’s toy in the mud…what the hell did they all mean. Then as Blackwall looked over at him with pain and fear, it all clicked. 

“ _Vyn esaya gera assan i’mar’av’ingala_ ,” (You would try to catch an arrow with your teeth, or basically you’re a moron) Banal hissed under his breath. 

“Shit…” Varric muttered, understanding full well where this was going. 

“I gave the order. The crime is mine. I am Thom Rainer.” Another gasp from the crowd, but Banal was just glaring at the idiotic _shemlen_. He honestly thought Banal would just let him get himself hanged for some crime? Just waltz off without a word and go put a noose around his neck? Sure, from the man’s song, Banal gathered he felt terrible and guilty over it, but those were still hard emotions for him to fully understand. He had learned long ago to accept that which was done and move on; there was no point in beating a corpse. 

But then again…maybe that was just him… 

He waited for the guards to lead “Rainer” away and the crowd to disperse, the rain ominously starting to fall again. That’s dramatic; did Orlesian weather care about drama too? He was getting drenched, of course, but his clothes were far from his concerns. “Go back to the inn, tell Cullen and the others what happened, see if they can figure something out.” He told the others. 

“And you?” Varric asked. Don’t tell him he was going to march into the jail and do a jailbreak… 

Banal’s eyes were locked on the path the guards had walked. “I’m going to have a little word with our supposed murderer, see what in the name of the spirits he thinks this will accomplish.” 

***** 

Banal’s footsteps didn’t even make a noise over the stones as he walked to the only occupied cell in this section…this rather dilapidated section. Did they seriously not realize a determined prisoner could just slip through one of these cracks? Or move the bars? Who builds this shitty of a prison anyway? 

Architectural decisions aside, it did feel lonely, desolate, and all around depressive. Banal’s spine shivered, remembering for just a fleeting moment being locked inside a cell. Feeling of ghost hands crawled around him, a deep sense of emptiness knotting in his stomach until he stopped. A few breaths let him calm down. He refused to have whatever panic attack that was trying to happen. 

Blackwall sat on the bed, looking down at the ground like a beaten dog. He glanced over to him once, but neither of them said a word. For several heartbeats, the wind whistled through cracks and rats skittered overhead, but that was all. 

“I didn’t take Blackwall’s life. I traded his death.” Blackwall finally spoke. 

“That was one of my questions…” Banal offered, keeping his face neutral. 

“He wanted me for the Wardens, but there was an ambush. Darkspawn. He was killed. I took his name to stop the world from losing a good man.” Blackwall paused, anger starting to build. Banal’s markings flared in misty blues and pale oranges of self-loathing. “But a good man, the man he was, wouldn’t have let another die in his place.” 

Banal walked up to the bars. “And dying fixes things?” 

“Isn’t it a start?” Blackwall shot back. He finally looked at the Inquisitor. Banal’s ears pinned back as the noise got louder. “Why are you here?” 

“That depends, I suppose…” 

Blackwall was at the bars quicker than Banal had previously given the man credit for. The metal rattled as he shoved against them. “Don’t you understand? I gave the order to kill Lord Callier, his entourage, and I lied to my men about what they were doing!” He growled. He glared at Banal not with frustration or anger, but just self-hate, an emptiness. “When it came to light, I ran. Those men, **my** men, paid for my treason while I was pretending to be a better man.” He mocked himself. Banal didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t say a word. And somehow that made it worse for Blackwall. Slowly he slid to the ground. “This is what I am! A murderer, a traitor…a monster.” 

Banal looked down at the man who had broken himself. How long ago had it been since Banal had felt such guilt? When did he stop thinking himself a monster? Those were questions he never really thought about before…and never really wanted to. 

“Blackwall…” Banal paused before starting again, “Rainer, may I tell you a story?” The ex-chevalier looked up with a confused expression. Like that was the farthest thing he could’ve imagined coming out of Banal’s mouth. “It’s about a boy named Mahviiral. Everyone told him he was a monster because of what ran in his blood. Every day he faced people cowering, spitting and cursing as he walked by. He tried his best to prove them wrong, to be good, but they never stopped looking at him like a monster. 

“Until one day…he became the monster they all said he was and he never questioned it, never looked back or hesitated; he became the monster they created and enjoyed every second of it.” Banal bent down to his level to look him in the eye. “You are not a monster until you enjoy what you do. If you regret, if you look back and cringe at that monster you see in the mirror, even for a second, you still have a little bit of hope.” 

It took Blackwall a moment to process the words. He looked down to the ground, away from the piercing green eyes that seemed to see straight through everything. A few minutes went by with nothing more than drips on the stone. 

“Is that some elven folklore? Meant to scare children?” He finally asked. Banal smirked. 

“I was not always Inquisitor, just as I was not always Banal.” Before Blackwall could even ask anything more, Banal stood and headed for the door. “And if I can come back from the abyss, so can you,” echoed around the cells and in the man’s head long after Banal had gone. 

***** 

“So crisis adverted, I assume?” Dorian’s voice carried through the air as Banal entered his rooms. He smirked. He didn’t recall telling the human he could sleep there. Though, he wasn’t about to complain since he was going to be cooped up in here until the rain stopped. 

“If you mean is Blackwall back, then yes, or at least will be. He didn’t get to take my shield and not come back,” Banal joked as he went into the sitting room. Orlesian rooms were like everything else Orlesian: gaudy and grand sized. The whole suite was this baroque style covered with gilding and overly ornate **things** carved into the white walls. Blues of the rugs and furniture offset it all into a nauseating mess of extravagance. 

Yet, Banal couldn’t find himself hating it as much, or at least he couldn’t hate the couch Dorian was lounging in, reading some book as usual. That made Banal pause, a small ‘huh’ escaping his lips, all thoughts of the day leaving his mind. 

Dorian looked up to the elf leaning against the door frame in thought. “Something interesting?” He raised an eyebrow at how the elf was studying him. He had shaved he could’ve sworn. His fingers absently touched his jaw in confirmation that he did indeed get rid of what was trying to be a mocking of Blackwall’s small face creature. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever tolerate anything Orlesian, yet that couch doesn’t look so hideous with you on it,” Banal shrugged. Dorian chuckled. 

“Was that a pick-up line, amatus? If so, that was horrendous.” 

Banal smirked, “I didn’t even get to the part about you being bent over it.” He winked as the Altus’s brain tripped over that sentence. He pushed off the frame and went over to the couch, water dripping into the rugs. He started to get closer to Dorian. 

A hand pressed against his chest, halting him. The human frowned. “You’re soaking wet.” When Banal only cocked an eyebrow, the human sighed as though he was trying to explain something simple to a child. “You’re going to ruin the couch and I’d rather not get kicked out into the rain.” 

Banal chuckled, “Are you trying to tell me what to do, _lathlin_?” His smirk made Dorian’s insides twist pleasantly. A steady heartbeat pounded against his hand, the coldness of the rain offset by the heat the elf was giving off. “You should know by now…” The deep rumble of his chest sent shivers through him. A hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled it away. Banal came close enough for their lips to barely brush. “I take orders as challenges.” 

Dorian’s only reply was a sigh as their lips collided. A hand ran through his hair, pulling his head back slightly. Banal’s tongue darted into his mouth. He was being demanding tonight it seemed. 

Banal gracefully straddled him. The cold, wet clothes almost immediately soaked his own. They separated enough to breathe. Banal’s eyes glinted in a flash of lightning. The markings bled pink over his skin. 

Dorian settled his hands on Banal’s hips, book placed carefully out of harm’s way. The rain pounded against the windows as thunder rolled. Banal kissed his lips again, softer this time. Their tongues played. Banal’s hand brushed along his jaw before he pulled back. 

Banal blinked as though noticing something. “Oh, you shaved.” He traced Dorian’s jaw curiously. Prickles of hair brushed his fingers. He chuckled at the foreign feeling. Dorian supposed he had never been around Banal with a prickly face before. At Skyhold he could nip beards in their buds; on the road…it wasn’t easy. This time though, his bearded-ness was due to running out of supplies since the Inquisitor took a few detours. “And here I was resigning myself to you rivaling Blackwall’s beard.” 

Dorian snorted, “I am not so cruel as to subject you to kissing a bear, amatus.” Banal’s fingers took advantage of the distraction. They deftly undid Dorian’s buckles. A cold hand slipped under his shirt. Dorian jumped, stomach twitching. He shivered as fingers travelled the line of hair. 

Banal cocked his head to the side. His fingers threaded through the course hair. “Why didn’t you shave here?” 

It must be nice to never have to shave or wax. Dorian smirked, lifting Banal’s shirt a little to rub at his sides. “That, amatus, takes a bit more effort and care than my face.” No need to try to explain exactly what it entailed. Plus his head was thinking of better things at the moment. Banal tugged gently, watching Dorian’s face. 

“You’ll have to show me how you do it sometime.” His free hand brushed against his jaw again. 

“You want to learn how to shave?” Dorian scoffed. 

“No. Perhaps?” 

“Well, which is it?” 

Banal frowned as though confused by himself. Thinking was getting hard…along with another part of his anatomy. Did Dorian always smell this nice? His fingers traced patterns over his chest. Was this Varric’s appeal? He’d admit he was always curious about the dwarf’s obsession with his chest hair. Dorian’s was…thinner? Finer? Maybe it was a Tevinter trait? 

He ducked his head. His lips trailed along Dorian’s jawline. “I just find it strange is all.” His nose brushed along the stubble. The strange almost…almond scent flooded his nose. Seeing as he had never smelt that on Dorian before, he was going to assume it came from shaving. 

Dorian tilted his head back, letting the elf’s mouth work wonders on his neck. He moaned through his nose. Fingers traced around his nipple. The other one carefully worked at his belt, subtle touches of pressure. 

A knock made them both freeze. Banal went back to sucking on Dorian’s neck. “Ignore it,” he whispered quietly. Slowly Dorian relaxed again. He slid his hand from Banal’s hip to the front of his trousers. A breathy sigh fanned against his neck. 

Another knock, this one louder, echoed through the room. Banal growled as he sat back to glare murder at the door. “ _Su an’banal i’ma_ ,” (To the void with you) he spat. Dorian tried not to chuckle as the elf brought that displeased look to him. 

“Stay.” 

Banal stood and stalked to the door, taking his belt off as he did. Steam literally rose from his clothes. The air became thick with magic. The belt clattered against the ground. Was it wrong that Dorian was finding this funny? 

“What?!” Banal growled as he opened the door. The agent jumped at the death glare. His eyes slid away from the Inquisitor into the room. Dorian gave a little wave and wink when the agent’s face turned red. He snapped back to attention, looking at the papers in his hands. 

“Uh, the Commander wants you to—” the poor man started, with only a slight warble in his voice. Was it always this cold in the Inquisitor’s room? He could see his breath. 

“Is someone dying?” Banal interrupted. The agent looked up, baffled. “Is. Someone. Dying?” He repeated slower. 

“No…” 

“Is someone bleeding?” 

The agent looked to the side. He shifted on his feet. “Uh…no, sir?” Was this why no one wanted this task? The random questions? Or was it the death glare trying to skin him alive? 

Banal leaned against the door frame. Frost crackled over it. “Is Corypheus dancing naked in the square?” 

The agent’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?” 

“Then it can wait,” Banal said as he stepped back to shut the door. The agent recovered quickly, taking half a step before the sheer coldness around the Inquisitor made him step back. 

“It’s the Qunari; they—” 

“Have they declared war?” Banal hissed. Why couldn’t he have a simple vacation? Just a night? It was raining, he was drenched and had been dealing with idiots all day. He just wanted to have good sex and go to sleep. That’s it. Why the hell couldn’t this agent get that? 

“No, they just want—” 

“It can wait,” he insisted, leaning into the man’s personal space. He huffed, little puffs of white forming. 

“But…” The agent wasn’t supposed to leave until the Inquisitor got Bull’s report. How was he supposed to tell the Commander that he interrupted his…Tevinter time? Panic started to lace through the agent’s song, just irritating Banal more. 

He sighed loudly, “Allow me to outline my priorities to you, hmm?” Banal held up one finger for every item’s ranking. “Corypheus, sex, world domination, war, allies, and _shemlen_ cares.” While he was counting them off, he stepped back into the room. Before the agent could realize it, he slammed the door shut. The lock clicked loudly as Banal turned back around. 

Dorian chuckled. That was certainly not obvious. Banal took a moment to breathe, letting the magic roll off him. The markings slowly faded back into a pale pink. He scratched the back of his neck as footsteps faded away. 

“I’m going to regret that tomorrow, aren’t I?” Banal mumbled. 

“I suppose that depends on what we plan to do,” Dorian teased. “We could not have sex, so you can fully regret it.” He got a playful glare. 

“Don’t you even tease me with that.” But a smirk appeared around Banal’s lips even still. Dorian leaned back into the couch as the elf looked at the door once more. Oh well, he’d deal with it tomorrow. 

“Did I hear you correctly, amatus?” Dorian asked as the elf sauntered back towards him. “Sex **before** domination?” The seductive smirk that looked down at him sent a pleasant bolt through his cock. “So I’m all that’s standing between the world and you?” 

Banal straddled his lap again. His fingers threaded through the hair at the back of Dorian’s neck. He leaned forward. Their lips brushed, eyes locked. “Hmm, no pressure or anything.” Dorian smirked just before their lips met. He watched as the pink bled around the elf’s eyes, little flashes of white glinting in the lightning strikes. 

They separated long enough for a breath. Banal’s tongue delved deep into Dorian’s mouth. His fingers tightened, keeping the human right where he wanted him. Those draconic eyes pinned him as Banal broke away. The spell broke as they fluttered closed. A low groan escaped the elf; Dorian’s hand pressed a little harder against the bulge in front of Banal’s trousers. 

“ _Garas, aman na’mis_ ,” Banal whispered. Dorian snorted. 

“You know I have no idea what you are saying, yes?” A few kisses pressed against his jaw. Banal rocked his hips against his hand, soft breaths fanning over Dorian’s skin. 

“I will teach you,” Banal moaned. His breathing sped up slightly as he felt the stays of his pants bite into him. His hands slipped back under Dorian’s shirt. The nails dragged over his chest as they traced patterns. 

Dorian’s breath hitched as one circled his nipple. Lips sucked at his neck. Small bites were soothed away with a warm tongue. His fingers deftly loosened the elf’s trousers enough for him to slip inside. Banal hissed as a hand teased his cock. The pad of Dorian’s thumb rolled around the head in a steady circle. A groan vibrated against his neck. Banal bucked his hips. He placed open-mouthed kisses all along Dorian’s jaw, sucking hard. 

Dorian wrapped his hand around his cock. “Fuck…” whispered against his neck. A breathy moan followed. He slid his hand slowly down. Banal twitched in his grip. He kept up a steady pace. Moans turned into whines when he wouldn’t speed up. Banal bit his shoulder in retaliation, tongue taking away the burn. 

“You’re going to leave a mark,” Dorian scolded, throat thick and hoarse. He fought against the urge to groan as Banal rubbed down on his groin. Another nip at the corner of his jaw answered his concerns. He was definitely going to have a mark there. The slower Dorian went, the faster Banal peppered kisses and lovebites along his neck and lips. Nails dragged along his sides. 

Dorian’s hand glided over Banal’s cock, picking up the pace. Banal moaned loudly in response. His kisses slowed, hands stuttering in their movements. His lips brushed against Dorian’s neck softly. His mind narrowed down to the hand stroking him. His moans turned desperate as his pleasure built. He fisted a hand in Dorian’s hair. A slight twist of the hand flashed stars behind his eyes. His markings pulsed with a deep pink. He came with a shout, cum ruining his trousers. Dorian drew his orgasm out with languid strokes, watching white flash through the markings. 

Banal slumped against him, panting heavily. “You ruined my clothes, asshole,” he growled, though his voice held a smirk. Dorian chuckled as he slipped out of his trousers. He smirked down at the elf. 

“You bit me,” He countered before licking the cum off his hand. Banal groaned. His cock gave a small twitch as he watched. He wondered what Dorian tasted like. He had never sucked the human off he realized. The desire to find out stiffened his cock again. At the same time, he wanted Dorian buried in him. 

Banal pushed himself off Dorian. “Bed,” he ordered. The human smiled and leaned back on the couch, a look of smug defiance on his face. 

“I thought you wanted to ruin the couch, amatus?” In truth, Banal’s wet clothes had already stained the silk cushions, so anything more would just be grievous injury to insult. 

Banal growled in his throat, eyes narrowing. His marks darkened. Lightning flashed, thunder rolling. “If you don’t get your ass in bed, I will fuck you into the carpet,” his voice was raspy. When the human looked over at the carpet with an appraising look, he growled in frustration. He really wanted to fuck, but the idea of a bed beneath them was far greater. 

His hands fisted in Dorian’s shirt and pulled him up into a hard kiss. Dorian chuckled even as he was dominated. It turned into a moan when the elf slid his knee between his legs. “Bed. Now.” Banal mumbled again before dropping Dorian and waltzing into the connecting bedroom. 

Who was he to deny the Inquisitor? 

*****

“What did you say exactly?” Dorian asked, catching his breath as Banal settled down against him. The elf smirked over his shoulder at him. 

“I told you to cum in my ass basically,” Banal laughed as Dorian kissed the bruise he had made a few minutes ago on the top of his shoulder. 

“Elvish makes something so vulgar sound so pretty.” Banal let out a blissful sigh as hands massaged his hips. “You could probably tell someone they look like a dog’s diseased ball sack and make them think you gave them a great compliment.” 

A devious smirk threatened to spread over Banal’s lips. “What do you think I tell visiting nobles?” He stared straight ahead, feeling Dorian eye him in disbelief. 

“You…you what?” 

“I don’t call them a dog’s ball sack, but I do tell them to get the fuck out of my castle before they leave.” Both of them laughed as thunder rolled overhead. A few moments of silence came before Banal got up. He groaned as he moved, a little sore. 

“No one said you had to cum three times,” Dorian teased. Though he wasn’t complaining. Sorta. The only reason why Banal got to have three orgasms, aside from elven stamina, was because he decided to get payback for the last time. This time Dorian wasn’t allowed to come without permission, which he surprisingly followed. 

Banal smiled as he grabbed a blanket from the floor and wet a section of it with a spell. He wiped the cum off his stomach and chest before wiping sweat off Dorian. He gave a soft kiss to the bite marks on Dorian’s shoulder. Little bruises covered the human’s neck and upper torso. He smirked. 

“I’ll need to plan my attire accordingly, I suppose,” Dorian snorted, looking over what he could see. When the elf didn’t play nice, he really didn’t play nice. Banal traced one bite mark with a finger. 

“You don’t have to, pretty sure everyone knows what we do.” Dorian pulled the elf back against his side, nipping the tip of an ear. 

“No need to flaunt it, amatus. I wouldn’t want a jealous mob surrounding you.” He yawned mid-sentence. 

Banal kissed the bottom of his jaw, letting cold magic seep out of him and over Dorian’s skin. It ate away at the marks as it glistened in the low light. Dorian sighed as all the stiffness melted away and he sank into blissful sleep. Banal waited a few moments before moving. He tossed the blanket away. 

His eyes watched Dorian’s chest rise and fall. A strange spark ignited in his own chest, like his heart twitched. Banal winced as it did it again. Something was pushing at him. He pulled his magic back, but it clung stubbornly to the human. 

He froze for a second. He didn’t want the magic to backlash on either of them, so he forced himself to remain calm. A few quiet breaths whispered out of him, eyes closed against the storm. When he opened them, he opened his mind to the world’s magic. He felt a faint glimmer of Dorian’s soul trapped by hundreds of barriers both biological and mental. His own magic chipped at those barriers, seeking that electric spark as though it were dying…and it did feel like his magic was dying or rather that it wasn’t fully alive. 

It was nothing more than water frozen solid, waiting some form of warmth to melt it away and let it breathe, move, **live**. Banal sighed, tugging it back. This time it left with only a minor protest. He laid down next to Dorian, watching him for a moment before trying to go to sleep. 

He would not risk that sort of spell with a mortal. Sharing memories was one thing, sharing a soul completely different. 

***** 

_A sob ripped out his throat. Tears ran rivers down his face. His hands rubbed at his cheeks, trying to stop the water. He hiccupped. His chest quivered. Snot dripped from his nose._

_Mahviiral wiped his sleeve under his nose. He curled into a tight ball behind his bed. It was all his fault. If he hadn’t found it…Another sob came from him. His eyes burned, tears stinging his cheeks raw. He wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking slightly. Why did she have to hurt it?_

_The sound of bones crunching under the weight of the spell replayed in his mind as though time did not exist. A small, furry body twitching wildly as its spine broke. Mahviiral choked on bile, coughing as he tried to breathe between quiet wails. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t have to do it. He was stupid to think she wouldn’t know._

_He barely heard the door open. “Da’eanvheraan,” his bond-mother’s voice whispered through the air. Mahviiral bit his forearm to try to stop his hiccups. He didn’t want her to see him. She’d worry and fuss and he wasn’t worth that. Every little breath whimpered out of him. He curled in tighter, pressing back into the wall._

_“Your Papae said you ran off upset…” Felivetanin’s footsteps were quiet as she followed the little sniffles. Her dark bronze feet entered his blurred vision. She crouched beside the bed at the opening between the wall and the headboard. She brushed a peachy blonde curl back behind her ear. Mahviiral tried to push himself deeper into the wall. “Hey, what’s wrong, hmm?” She asked softly._

_When the child refused to uncoil and look at her, she sighed. “Mind if I join you in there?” She maneuvered herself partly behind the bed, leaning on one elbow as the rest of her wouldn’t fit. “I think this is about all of me that’s going to fit in here…” She joked._

_Mahviiral continued to hiccup around his arm, his mouth quivering as he bit harder. He tried to will the tears away. Felivetanin gently tugged his small arm away, a calloused thumb rubbing at the teeth marks._

_He watched her large, dark hands for a moment. He was making too much of a fuss. She’d be mad. He was messing up everyone’s day. He should just stay here forever. A little sob squeaked out, more tears streamed down his face. It’s all his fault._

_“Shhhh, shhhh, it’s okay,” Felivetanin whispered. Her hand brushed the pure white hair back from his face. “What’s wrong, hmm? What’s the matter?” Mahviiral looked up at her. The large, draconic eyes everyone was so afraid of were rimmed with red, tears sticking to the little white lashes. Her opal-like gaze softened. A huff blew a strand out of her face._

_Mahviiral’s lips quivered as he tried to talk. “Renan…” He choked out. His bond-mother cocked her head to the side. His breathing sped up as the words tumbled into a mess. “He was on on the balcony when…when she walked by and she…she…” more tears spilled out. In almost a scream, he continued, “He just wanted food and it’s my fault!” A wail came from him, a mess of snot and tears._

_Felivetanin sat up. “Shh, come here, lovey,” she cooed as she moved out of the tiny space, pulling him gently. The gold epaulet on her shoulder scraped against the wall. Arms wrapped tightly around him. “Shhhhh.” A soft hand petted his hair as he cried into the supple leather cuirass of her dress armor. “Who’s Renan?” She asked gently when he was no longer screaming._

_“My kitten. I found him outside and gave him some food…” Felivetanin rested her chin on her son’s head. Her arms tightened. “Why did she have to hurt him, Mamae? He just…wanted food,” Mahviiral cried again._

_“I don’t know, da’eanvheraan,” whispered against his hair. “I don’t know.” And that just made it worse, didn’t it? There wasn’t a reason other than it was Mahviiral’s cat and Adahla loved to hate him._

_He felt cold, alone even held tight in his bond-mother’s arms. His chest felt heavy, empty and broken. Slowly, the arms faded away and he really was alone, slipping into a dream without even noticing._

_Save it wasn’t a dream. He still felt his heart bleeding from his eyes. He still saw the tiny kitten twitch. It still hurt. The cold settled deep into his bones._

_“Why are you crying?” A young boy’s voice asked. It echoed strangely around him. For a moment, Mahviiral’s tears paused. He looked up into beautiful turquoise eyes. The boy was close enough for him to see the purple flare around his pupils and the light glint off golden lashes. There were tiny dark spots scattered lightly over dark gold skin. His gaze drifted to the space behind the boy._

_White surrounded them with only a gentle mist distinguishing the floor. The scruffy-looking boy was the only other person here. A golden glow hummed around him, casting his face to look like molten honey._

_“Where am I?” Mahviiral asked with a sniff. He curled up once again, resting his chin on his knees. The boy looked around, running a hand through his shaggy hair. Isen had told him stories of spirits who would choose to look mortal and come to people in their dreams. That’s what this must be then, a dream, and the boy a spirit._

_The boy’s gaze returned to him. “I think you are dreaming,” he confirmed with a slight lisp of someone who just lost a tooth. He crouched in front of Mahviiral. The fine silk tunic he wore wrinkled. His eyes watched him carefully, concern filling his gaze. “Why are you sad?” he asked. “Mamae said you should talk about things that make you sad.”_

_The spirit had a ‘mamae’? That wasn’t in the stories. Maybe it was someone who helped the spirit? Or that it sought to imitate? Did it see other boys with their mothers and thought it’d help it in the ruse?_

_But Isen always said, spirits only come when they wish to help. They never asked for anything, just came. A little flicker of warmth sprang to life in his chest. Maybe this spirit wanted to him?_

_Mahviiral rubbed his eyes. “My…kitten died,” he whispered miserably. His nose was stuffy now, his cheeks burned from all the tears. The boy’s eyes widened in shock before they softened. He sat down beside him. A delicate warmth radiated from him. Mahviiral shivered._

_“What happened? Was it sick?”_

_Mahviiral whimpered, tears trying to come but finding no more. “My birth mother killed it.” Like a dragon’s fire, it all came rushing out. The boy sat and listened as he told him about the little tiger striped kitten he had found in a storm, how they played and slept together, how he snuck Renan food from the kitchens. He listened to how the kitten had been killed; the golden glow dimmed, the warmth leaving with it for a heartbeat._

_“Can—” The spirit boy caught himself, “May I give you a hug?” He asked when Mahviiral was finished. When Mahviiral only blinked at him, he rushed on, his cheeks turning pink. “Mamae says you should hug someone who’s having a bad day, but you should always ask before you touch someone.” The boy looked at the ground, his face turning redder by the second._

_Mahviiral’s head spun. For once, someone didn’t run from him. Someone didn’t shy away. He wasn’t scared of his eyes. “If you want to, I guess.” The boy’s eyes returned to him._

_The next second warmth wrapped around him in a tight hug. It felt like he was getting hugged by a sun, the golden glow flaring gently around them. “I’m sorry your kitty died,” the boy whispered. The cold started to retreat from Mahviiral’s heart. The golden glow absorbed into him, the heat wrapping around his heart and holding him tight._

_He suddenly felt whole._

_Slowly, Mahviiral returned the hug. He couldn’t remember getting a hug this tight from anyone but family before. For a few seconds, he could even feel the boy’s heartbeat in his chest, but surely that was an illusion._

_“Do you have a name?” The boy asked as they pulled apart. Mahviiral wiped his sleeve across his face._

_“Mahviiral,” he croaked. The boy smiled, showing off the missing back tooth. The warmth spread through the air._

_“That’s a pretty name.” Mahviiral’s cheeks heated up. No one ever really complimented him. He stuck to the shadows, kept out of everyone’s way. Yet, he had this boy’s undivided attention._

_“If you think so…” His eyes dropped down to the ground. He played with his hands for a minute. “Do…do you have a name?” He looked up through white eyelashes._

_“Elgar’nan.”_

Banal’s eyes snapped open. Rain pounded harshly against the windows, casting jagged shadows as lightning struck. He looked over his shoulder. Dorian’s back faced him, the human having rolled to the other side of the bed. 

Quietly, Banal sat up. His heart beat frantically in his chest. He placed a hand over it. What an odd dream for him to have…He blinked, coldness hitting his cheeks. He reached up. Tears still clung to his eyelashes. His breaths shook slightly. 

A deep cold settled around him as he tentatively felt for that warmth he had found in the dream. There was no warmth, no fire, not even an ember. Just a gaping wound that gushed out blood and cold, like someone had reached in and tore his heart from his chest. It throbbed and twitched. It twisted and screamed. 

Banal gasped quietly at the pain. The hole ripped wider, memories of the bond shattering filling his mind. He tried to push it away, throw barriers over it in hopes of it staying buried. But it wouldn’t be forgotten again. 

Fresh tears fell from his eyes. For the first time in eons, he was alone, utterly alone. The room began to shrink in on him. The gaping hole in his soul spat out fear and loneliness. He felt broken, hollow. He pressed harder against his chest. 

A small sigh broke through the swirl of emotions. He looked over at Dorian’s sleeping form. Once again, Banal was struck with the rift between them. His soul tried to reach out, to find something, anything that would heal it. But he pulled it back as black crept over the sheets. 

Banal’s magic, his soul could crush Dorian’s as easily as it could a young child’s. No. He pushed it all back into his heart. Like a wraith, he crept out of bed, grabbed the discarded sheet from the ground and went out onto the balcony. The blanket did little against the storm, but Banal’s body shivered from an inner cold. His back leaned against the wall as he looked at the sky. He hadn’t thought about his family before the memory block a lot. He slid down to the ground. 

But damn if he didn’t miss them now. He felt like he was drowning, the weight of solitude crushing, grinding him down. It wasn’t even just his soul missing a part. He missed his home, how the bugs would dance over the swamp waters, how the crystal lanterns of the town waivered like spirit orbs from the palace. There was always a hint of magic, a gentle hum or tune that waltzed through the air asking to be used. 

He missed his family. His father, Isen, having tea in the gardens while Banal practiced his music. His bond-mother, Felivetanin, giving him a toy sword and letting him practice with her guards. His baby brother, Alha, following him everywhere, trying to be just like him. He wondered for a moment what they might’ve thought about his own family. Isen and Felivetanin would’ve adored the twins, probably spoiled them far more than they needed too. 

A sad smile tugged at his lips. His eyes blurred as memories came crashing over him. He suddenly knew what he had lost. And if anyone had seen him, he would just say it was the rain running down his face. 

***** 

A thunderclap startled Dorian awake. He bolted upright, eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness of the room. Another lightning strike lit up a figure as it entered from the balcony. For a moment, Dorian’s mind jumped to burglar, until he registered his hand was touching an empty bed next to him. 

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Banal’s voice sounded hoarse. Dorian frowned. He waved his hand to light a few of the candles. The elf shivered, completely drenched, clutching a meager bedsheet around his naked form. 

“No the storm did…” Dorian rubbed at one of his eyes. He couldn’t make out Banal’s face as he walked further into the room. “Why were you outside?” He began to get out of bed, his stomach twisting. 

“It’s nothing, Dorian, go back to sleep.” Banal tried to smile gently as he stopped beside the bed, but it looked about as broken as he felt. Dorian could barely make out how puffy his eyes were in the dark. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Before he could ask any further, Banal disappeared into the apartment’s bathroom. 

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. The bed beside him was cold, meaning Banal had woken up some time ago. And why did he look like he’d been crying? Dorian threw off the covers. He snatched his trousers from the ground and got them on before nudging the door open some. 

“Amatus, are you alright?” He asked. It was pitch black in there. “Maker’s balls how can you see in here?” Just as the words left his mouth, flames burst into life around the room in an eerie purple color. Banal dried himself off with a towel in front of the mirror. The movements were slow, the towel just ghosting over him in a half-hearted attempt to get dry. 

Dorian pushed the door open. He watched a few seconds. There was a haze in Banal’s eyes, a slight sniffle to his breathing. His lips were tinted with blue and his body shivered compulsively. Dorian frowned as he walked in. 

He grabbed the towel from the elf, kicking the drenched sheet away from them. He wrapped the cloth around Banal, rubbing gently on his arms. “You do realize you aren’t supposed to go outside, naked in a storm, yes?” A little snort was all he got as a reply. “Bad dream?” He guessed. 

“Something like that.” Banal gave. He stepped back with a sigh. “Go back to sleep, _lathlin_.” 

Dorian frowned, seeing that damn wall try to come up. Normally, he might question why he cared so much, but he had long stopped trying fight himself. Was it so wrong to love this stubborn ass? 

“Counterproposal,” Dorian started, “you tell me what’s wrong and we both go to bed.” Banal’s eyes flickered up to his. He couldn’t even begin to fathom the pain in their depths. His chest tightened. He grabbed another towel and began patting the drips that fell into Banal’s face. 

“It’s nothing, Dorian.” 

“Yet here we are: you dripping wet after standing out in the rain and me not believing you.” 

“You’re sassy when you get woken up,” Banal grumbled. A kiss on against his forehead made him blink. 

Dorian gave a soft smile. “I just thought we were passed these inane run arounds.” Banal’s ears twitched as the towel passed over them. Dorian’s thumb brushed over the tips. He shivered, beginning to lean into the warmth the human exuded. Banal’s head rested against Dorian’s shoulder, listening to his heart beat. 

A soft sigh escaped him, warmth starting to bleed back into his limbs. “I don’t really know myself.” 

“So you just stand out in the rain for fun now?” Dorian rubbed the towel against Banal’s hair, pushing the messy strands back. 

Banal listened as he heard a quiet song in Dorian’s heart. Little notes of fear sang like bells, subtle notes of despair whistling through them, but overall it was a calm melody. It wasn’t out of tune at all, just worried. He gave Dorian’s chest a kiss as he stepped back. 

He took a deep breath, pushing away his own swirling emotions. “I’m not trying to hide it from you, _lathlin_ ,” he gave gently. “Just…let me try to sort this out for a little bit first?” 

Dorian watched as Banal took the towel around him and began to wring out his braid. He supposed if the elf wanted to think about whatever was bothering him first, he’d let him. But if he started brooding about it, or doing his usual retreat away from emotions thing, Dorian would smack him upside the head. Banal looked up just as Dorian nodded his agreement. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. 

“Well,” Dorian struggled to find a different topic. The elf continued to run the towel over his hair. Such a melancholy look sat on those features it made the air heavy. “What is it that you are always calling me?” Dorian asked the first thing that popped into his head. He looked back at Banal. 

“ _Lathlin_?” Banal cocked an eyebrow. “Why?” He honestly didn’t want to explain it. Not only was it a weird cultural thing that didn’t translate well, but it was also…sappy. Far too sappy for Banal to speak about anyway. 

Dorian shrugged, leaning against the counter. “You know what amatus means since you stole Tevene from my head; I think turnabout is fair play.” He gave a smirk. “Besides you said you’d teach me elvish, why not start small?” 

Banal frowned. When he said he’d teach him, he was thinking with the mind of his other head. Of course, those were always the decisions to bite him in the ass. He sighed. “It’s…hard to translate actually.” Banal moved farther down his braid, focusing his attention on that task rather than the topic. Why was he getting all nervous for something like this? Aside from the stupidity of it. 

“Oh?” Dorian prompted when the elf didn’t continue. “Why is that?” 

“It’s a cultural thing, I suppose. Literally it would translate to ‘one who is kin to love’,” Banal grumbled. “But it was…more than that? I guess?” This was frustrating. Not only was it hard to explain something that just was to him, but it was even harder since it involved…feelings. 

“How?” Dorian felt like he was pulling teeth at this point. What was so hard about one word? Banal looked up at him before turning and leaving the bathroom. He dropped the towel on the ground. 

“It was kind of a way to describe the relationship between two people.” Banal slipped back into bed, his back to Dorian. This way he could hide his fidgets. “It was different from _lethallin_ and _vhenin_ , a sort of in between?” Banal could’ve groaned as he resorted to even more elvish. That’s not going to be very clear. 

“Lotus and Soralan call you the first, but that is all I know about it,” Dorian commented. The bed sank as he got into bed. Warmth pressed against Banal’s back; a hand brushed a strand of hair back behind his ear. Banal sighed again. He turned his head away slightly. “Why are you so nervous?” the human chuckled. 

“Because this shit is too saccharine for my taste,” Banal hissed, glaring at him from the corner of his eye. 

“You brought this on yourself.” 

“Don’t I know it…” Fingers traced over his arm, up his shoulder. They outlined his ear before going back down his neck. “ _Lethallin_ is a male friend, while _vhenin_ is…similar to calling someone amatus. _Lathlin_ is like a man you care about a great deal, most likely you sleep with him, but you aren’t…dating?” Banal shifted a little. “Courting maybe? I’m not sure I have enough knowledge of human customs to explain it correctly.” 

Dorian frowned, “Friend with benefits?” Ouch. 

Banal growled something to himself. “No, no, no. A friend you have sex with is still a friend; you just might tolerate them more…at least I do with those two idiots.” Dorian hummed acknowledgment before those words sunk in. Wait…Banal slept with Lotus and Soralan? Before he could clarify, Banal was talking again. “ _Lathlin_ is…feelings?” He muttered something in elvish like he was struggling to find the words. 

Dorian rested his chin on Banal’s arm, watching the candlelight dance over the shifting faces the elf made. It seemed this truly was a hard concept for him to explain. “Well, what are the markings of a _lathlin_?” He was pretty sure his accent of atrocious, but the elf turned his head at least. 

“It’s…like…Hmmm…” Banal furrowed his eyebrows. “It’s not an affair, but sort of like it…is there a word for someone you see in secret?” 

“Hmmm, paramour?” Dorian’s finger brushed along his cheekbone. The tattoos glinted with white light. He would never get tired of that. 

Banal frowned, “I suppose…” The word, however, seemed to have foul connotations. “But _lathlen_ ,” he paused, “—that’s the plural form of the word— _lathlen_ aren’t frowned upon. It’s just a phase of a relationship kept behind closed doors…a sort of get to knowing phase?” 

Dorian thought about that for a moment. “So it’s like dating in secret? Away from everyone’s prying eyes?” 

“Yes, after a while you start courting with all the formalities that comes with.” 

“ _Vhenin_?” 

Banal tossed that around in his head. “Depends on what part of the Empire you were from. My people went _lethallin_ , _lathlin_ , _ma’isha_ , then _vhenin_. My mate’s thought _ma’isha_ and _vhenin_ to be the same.” 

“Do elves have protocol for everything?” Dorian chuckled, head spinning from all the vowels on display. “And ma-e-sha,” he tried slowly, “means?” Banal reached up and ran his hand through Dorian’s hair for his effort. It was rather cute how the Tevinter accent made Elvish sound. 

“My man. _Vhenin_ can translate to heart or home which really is the same thing.” 

Dorian traced designs over his skin in thought. He supposed that for something as serious as bonding it would be good to get to know that person before announcing to the world you were dating. And for nobility it would be for the best to have alone time away from the courtly intrigues. Less chance of a scandal. 

None of that, though, made it sting less. Banal’s frustration did; he seemed to struggle with anything involving emotions still. Not that Dorian was much better at them, but he could admit (to himself) that he had fallen for the prickly Inquisitor against his better judgement. 

“So the difference between your _lathlin_ and _vhenin_ is merely publicity?” Slowly, his brain started to formulate a plan. 

Banal relaxed himself, resting against the human more. “‘Kin to love’ is not exactly an equivalent to ‘my heart’ on an emotional level is it? But for the most part…yes. If you trust them enough to be public with things, then…” Banal shrugged to finish his sentence. He shifted again. “Am I able to ask that we drop this frustratingly sappy conversation?” 

Dorian laughed before he placed a kiss on Banal’s shoulder. At least, he had managed to distract his mind for a while. Dorian looked down at him. He wasn’t sure if it was just the lighting or if Banal was actually blushing…with an incredibly plaintive pout. “You haven’t seen much of Val Royeaux, have you?” Dorian changed topics suddenly. Banal’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Just the marketplace, yes?” 

It took a moment for Banal’s brain to comprehend what he was talking about. “Uh…yes? I’ve seen a random side street and some of the residential area going to the Enchanter’s chateau.” 

Dorian smiled to himself. “Well, seeing as we are stuck here until Blackwall is released, we can go experience the finest Orlesian culture and mock it together then.” 

Banal blinked in the darkness. That…that almost sounded like a…He turned partially to look up at the human. He cocked an eyebrow. “Dorian…are you asking me out?” 

Dorian laughed, “Hardly, amatus; you are the one with all the money, so you’d have to pay for everything. I’m asking **you** to take **me** out.” 

What an odd human, Banal thought as he studied the mischievous smirk Dorian had. Then again, it did sound…rather fun to go out and see exactly what appealed to people about this place. He doubted he’d find anything to like about Orlais, but who knows? He might find his disgust for the place lessen slightly. 

“Well, I’m taking Leliana to that Chantry tomorrow, so the day after?” He got a soft kiss against his lips. 

“I shall look forward to mocking Orlais with you.”

***** 

A knock echoed through the room. Dorian looked over at the Inquisitor, who sat in the same couch as he had for the past fifteen minutes trying to comb out his braid…which was nothing but tangles and knots now. Banal glared at the end of hair as he yanked, stabbed, and otherwise used the comb as a weapon. 

“You had to go to sleep with wet hair,” Dorian muttered as he went out into the sitting room. He got a particularly murderous glare on the way. Still he smirked as he went to the door. Leliana stood behind it. 

“Good morning, Dorian,” her voice was its normal professionally cold, but the smirk on her face said she was gossiping about this later. “Is the Inquisitor ready?” Dorian snorted as he tried not to laugh. Banal wasn’t even dressed, he just had a sheet around him. 

As he opened his mouth, the telltale sound of a comb snapping came from the bedroom. Several elvish curses followed as two pieces of comb flew through the door and hit the wall. “Bad hair day,” Dorian quipped. Leliana leaned to look around him. 

“Should I go find Vhena?” She asked. That girl could work wonders not only on hair, but her father’s temper. After all, Leliana didn’t want him to fly into a village as a griffon and kill everyone. Yet. It might be necessary later. 

Dorian looked over his shoulder, “That and a sturdier comb.” If one existed. Maybe one made out of dragon bone? That might work. Leliana smiled before disappearing down the hall. Dorian cautiously made his way back to the bedroom, hoping no more things would be flying. 

He expected a very pissed elf, clawing at his hair. What he saw was a very pale looking Banal staring at his hair with a mix of shock and horror. “Something in your hair?” Dorian asked, breaking the trance. 

Banal blinked up at him. “Uh…no?” His eyes returned to staring at his hair. “Dorian, tell me I’m crazy…” 

“Why would I do that?” Dorian chuckled. The elf looked up at him in all seriousness. The smile dropped from Dorian’s face. That…wasn’t a pleasant look. He looked lost and a tad freaked out by something. “What is it?” 

Banal held up a finger before picking up the little knife that came with his breakfast. Before Dorian could even ask what he was doing, Banal cut off a large section of his hair. Dorian’s eyes widened as the black strands fell to the ground. Apparently, Banal was so tired of brushing his hair, he’d rather cut it all off… 

Then magic built in the air. Banal took a deep breath. As he exhaled, the cut ends started to grow. They shimmered as they regrew to the exact length they were before…only they were the purest white. Dorian blinked. The black slowly dripped down like water until the white was once again blackest black. 

They sat in silence for a few heartbeats. “Is your hair white…or black?” Dorian asked, as he picked up the strands on the ground. Black smoke rose from them. When it stopped, all that was left were pearly white strands. 

“I…don’t know…” Banal mumbled. “My hair was white as a child, but it turned black when I was a teenager.” When his Void magic awoke to be specific. 

“How can you not know what color your hair is?” That would be rather hard given the amount of time he has to take to brush his hair. 

“I never cut it!” Banal growled. He started pulling the top part of the braid out now that the bottom half was…better. Weirder of course, but at least it wasn’t a tangled mess of knots. “Or at least, I never cut it and then made it grow…” 

Dorian dropped the strands. His fingers felt tingly from the magic on them. Before either of them could continue, Vhena burst in the door. “Leliana said you are breaking combs,” She chorused as she all but skipped into the bedroom. She smiled brightly. Banal schooled his features. His weirdness could wait…probably. Did all his hair turn white when it left his head? Or just cut strands? 

Vhena pulled out a metal comb. Silverite sparkled in the light. A very bland comb in terms of design, but the enchantments in it danced with magic. “An enchanted comb?” Dorian scoffed. 

She giggled before fadestepping behind her father and grabbing his braid. “Yep!” 

Banal frowned. “So that’s where my comb went…” It was missing for a month now. He half expected some maid to have run off with it and sold it for a few coppers. He turned his head slightly to glare at her. “You little thief.” 

Vhena smiled impishly, “Sula was having a bad hair day too so…I…borrowed it and forgot to put it back.” Banal snorted. Uh-huh, he was sure that’s exactly what happened. 

“Someone actually enchanted a comb?” Dorian couldn’t believe someone actually took the time to enchant a damn comb. What did it do anyways? 

Banal shrugged. “We did a lot of trifle things. Enchanted baths, wardrobes, beds…we are an incredibly lavish and lazy culture, Dorian.” There were libraries whose shelves protected books from age, inns with mugs that kept everything cool, floors that heated or cooled depending on the day…just so no magic was wasted on the trifle things. 

Vhena used the comb’s teeth to pick apart the last of the braid. The enchantments hummed, slicking the strands and gently untangling the knots. Also it was perfumed. In far less time than normal, Banal’s hair was back to its normal silky soft look. 

“Did Rithara give you and An’nas your gift already?” Banal asked. He knew better than to stand up when she set the comb down. She carefully started to weave braids on top of his head. 

Her hands paused at his words. “We…have another gift?” She leaned over to look at him from the side. “There’s more than killing a dragon?” 

Banal snorted, “Killing the dragon was just…tradition. The real gift comes afterwards.” He glanced over at her before smirking. “You’ll have to talk to Rith; I’m not going to spoil her efforts.” His daughter pouted, almost vibrating with excitement. But it did have the intended effect. She quickly finished, fingers almost flying as they completed half of what they wanted to do. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, a mumbled ‘play nice’, before all but sprinting out the door. 

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Dorian smirked. The classic technique of distract the child with something shinier or prettier to make them hurry up at a task. He was surprised it still worked on Vhena though. 

“It was either that, or waste more time on my damnable hair.” 

***** 

Leliana and Banal shared a look as they neared the inn. All that…for a damn empty box. Oh sure the metaphors were lovely and touching, but seriously? Why the hell couldn’t the Divine just stick that in the note? Why all the smoke and mirrors? 

And then to top it off, Banal didn’t get to kill anyone. At all. Because apparently his growing moral compass decided to show up. If that Victorie…Victoire? Whoever the hell she was, if she didn’t realize that he’d level her entire estate and backed down from her stupid play for power, she was both stupid and dead. 

“Let’s…not tell anyone I spared a Chantry Mother, hmm?” Banal grumbled. 

“Josephine’s going to be simply beside herself. ‘Niceness before knives, Leliana, haven’t I always told you?’” She mimicked the ambassador’s accent. “Ugh, we are not going to hear the end of this.” 

“Me more than you.” They turned towards the door to face their inevitable doom. 

They hadn’t taken more than one step into the inn before suddenly everyone was around them. Vhena and Josephine looked stern. Varric was interested in what went down, Cassandra wary, and everyone else had variations on their faces. 

“So how many favors do I need to call in this time?” Josephine started. “Please tell me any deaths were limited to thugs. Or in a quiet area no one would see.” Banal groaned. 

“No one died.” Much to his displeasure. “And the Chantry is still intact.” 

Varric gave a mock gasp. “You left everything as it was? No collateral damage? Smiley, I’m surprised with you.” Banal made an obscene gesture towards the dwarf. “I am so proud to announce you can finally be trusted on your own.” 

“Aw…” Vhena cooed, joining on mocking him. “ _Papae_ is finally all grown up! Saving people and petting kittens.” She smiled brightly as everyone started laugh. An’nas chuckled before he noticed his father’s cheeks were starting to redden. His laughter died on his lips, replaced with shock. He smacked his twin’s shoulder a few times. 

Banal glared at a spot on the wall. Why did they have to make such a big deal out of this? It’s not like he sacrificed power for people. He just stopped one person from making a terrible choice of spiraling down a dark path. He knew that path and only death was down it. He’d rather spare a mortal that kind of pain. They were very fragile after all. 

But all of their attention and loud songs of approval made him feel anxious. A strange tight feeling sprang to life in his chest. His stomach flipped a few times as his face started to burn. And…he was getting flustered over this, wasn’t he? 

“Are…you blushing, _Papae_?” Vhena asked quietly. Slowly everyone’s laughs and jolly moods died down. They watched in amazement as the Inquisitor shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. His eyes never moved from their glaring at the wall. 

The tips of his ears were even pink. Banal…could blush? Was he…shy? 

The room sat in awed silence, every eye on Banal. He blinked, shifting his gaze to the floor. “I hate all of you,” he grumbled, shooting a glare at the group. Shadows wrapped around him and he disappeared, slipping upstairs quietly. 

Stupid moral compass anyway. 

***** 

Hours of hiding/sulking in his room later, his daughter happily skipped in without so much as a knock. He glared at her from over his book. She only smiled. She had something draped over her arm. “Dinner’s ready.” 

Banal made a grunt of acknowledgement. Like he was going to eat. He still wanted to punch people for making him flustered over something trivial. He hadn’t gotten embarrassed over praise since he was a thousand. Can’t say he enjoyed the experience as at six thousand either. 

“Oh come on, _Papae_! Don’t sulk!” Vhena whined. “We were just teasing you for doing something good for a change. With no supervision.” The glare she got said she wasn’t helping. She came over to the couch he was lounging on. “You did good, _Papae_ ; everyone’s real happy you didn’t just…” 

“Not hungry,” Banal interrupted. “Did Rith give you your present yet?” He blatantly changed the subject. Could they just all forget today even happened? Probably not. 

Vhena frowned, “No. She said she still had to do a few things, or well get a few things from the town. Said it’d be ready by the time we get to Suledin.” She pouted. She hated waiting. And Rithara was very skilled at shielding her mind from Vhena’s probing. No one else would spill either and An’nas wasn’t that interested to help her. 

Banal smirked for half a second before looking back at his book. “The Enchanter take you to see the city?” 

That perked her up. A big grin spread over her face. “Yes! This place is amazing! They have so many tailors! And in the plaza, actors can…” And she then launched into a step by step replay of her day with Vivienne. She got to dance in the plaza to some minstrels that were using a stage, see a drama, watch a person get mugged, and go shopping…a lot. 

Banal vaguely wondered if she had taken money out of his coin purse at one point or if all this was being charged to the Inquisition…how would Josephine budget that anyway? Morale? 

Still, by the end of her tale, his bad mood had dissipated. It was hard to stay angry when Vhena tried to imitate an Orlesian accent of a man that tried to insult her. He’d normally be pissed at that, but Vhena apparently casually threw in a ‘yeah well my father is the Inquisitor so shut up’ come back that probably ended his family funding and ruined him socially. 

“Sounds like you had an interesting day,” Banal chuckled quietly. Vhena smiled widely. 

“Oh that’s not even the best part!” She stood up and finally revealed the thing over her arm. It was…a dress…an Orlesian dress. It was a peacock blue that shimmered with greens in the light, with a lighter blue underneath. It seemed like there were a few layers to the gown, a part gathering around the waist, a part underneath that part…Honestly to him it was just a bunch of silk and…pearls? Maybe? 

“Look, _Papae_!” Vhena spun around with the dress held to her. “Lady Vivienne bought it for me.” Banal fought hard to keep his disdain off his face. The dress was…Orlesian…he was sure it was pretty…somehow…maybe…But it was **Orlesian** , and picked by his bane. 

“Why?” He asked as plainly as he could. He stood up, as though trying to look at it properly. 

“Lady Vivienne said I should have at least one proper gown for Orlesian parties.” Banal frowned. Vhena had plenty of proper gowns. He had bought at least a dozen in Arlathan. That girl needed dresses like Val Royeaux needed lions. “Do you like it?” Vhena asked, a hopeful smile on her face. 

Banal could’ve groaned. On the one hand, he found anything Orlesian distasteful. On the other hand, it was his daughter that was asking. He could see no winning in this situation. He either praised Orlais for that amount of embroidery or he destroyed his daughter’s happiness. 

His mouth made an attempt at smiling, “I’m sure it’ll look lovely on you…” 

“You hate it, don’t you?” Vhena laughed, seeing how her father forced the words out of his mouth. It was kind of sweet that he wouldn’t just say that outright. Banal relaxed some. At least his daughter knew him well. He placed his hands on her shoulders, kissing her forehead. 

“It’s Orlesian, of course I hate it.” 

***** 

“Don’t move,” sounded around Dorian’s semi-consciousness as he roused from sleep. He managed to open his eyes a little. The bed beside him was empty, sheets messy. He blinked a little before looking around the room. Banal sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, bent over something. “I said don’t move, and what do you do?” The elf gave a long suffering sigh as he looked up. 

“What?” Dorian eloquently managed. His eyes barely managed to focus enough to see it wasn’t even a minute passed dawn. Still he could see the book in Banal’s lap. “Are you drawing me while I sleep?” He cocked an eyebrow. 

Banal looked down at his drawing, fixing a few things. “Well, you are a bit more appealing to me than an Orlesian city, so yes.” Dorian snorted as he lay his head back down. 

“You know your compliments are hard to tell from your insults, amatus.” The charcoal began to move against the paper. 

Banal rolled his eyes, “Not really. Insults usually tear you to pieces.” For a few moments, the only sound was Banal’s charcoal and hands gliding over the page. Dorian watched from the corner of his eyes. Occasionally, their gazes would meet in the brief moments Banal took to look at his model. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Dorian finally asked into the silence. He had sat for hundreds of portraits growing up, yet this one he didn’t want to be still. Banal didn’t seem to notice the slight twitching of his fingers. 

“Not really.” So the elf was back to being insufferably vague…Well Dorian knew how to play this game. 

“Bad dream again?” 

Banal’s hand paused, eyes flitting up to Dorian’s. He seemed to think about something for a moment. “I don’t dream, at least not in the way you are thinking,” he finally gave. 

Dorian frowned in confusion. “But you said you are a Dreamer.” 

Banal straightened. He rubbed his cheek with the heel of his hand. “Well, yes. I can connect to the Fade, wander around talking to spirits and seeing memories, but I don’t **dream**.” He paused, trying to sort through cultural beliefs to get to the basics. It was rather hard since those beliefs died out when he was still in his first millennium. “The spirits don’t create dreams for me, sort of like Varric?” 

Dorian risked turning his head slightly to stare at the Inquisitor in disbelief. How could you be a Dreamer, but have no dreams? That didn’t make any sense. 

Banal moved up the bed to push his head back into position gently before going back to his spot. “Lotus once told me of a dream he had where he showed up to class naked. Sula often has nightmares of her brother. I don’t have those weird distortions of reality? I mostly just relive old memories whether they are mine or a location’s.” 

“How is that even possible?” Dorian muttered. 

Banal shifted. “It’s…an Elvhen thing…or maybe belief would be the best term for it. It involves a lot of elvish to explain…” Dorian took that as him trying to get the topic to change. He supposed he should let the elf dodge things this time. His head wasn’t fully awake after all. 

“So what is the Elven word for Dreamer?” 

“Well, _era_ is dream or story or to dream.” Banal answered absently as he finished his drawing. “As for somniari, we would use the term _I've'an'virelan_ , walker of the Beyond.” 

Dorian stifled a disbelieving snort. “I’m not even going to try to say that one.” How could one word have that many vowels? Was it even one word? It sounded like ten. 

Banal shook his head. “I will teach you someday.” He gave the drawing a few more smudges before he was satisfied. “Now you may move.” Dorian moved onto his back, to stare down his body at the elf. 

“Am I allowed to see this picture?” He was kind of curious. After all, this was the first time he’d be drawn asleep…or at least the first time he knew about it anyway. Banal made a little pout, like he didn’t want to share. “You did draw me while I was asleep, amatus. I’d like to think that entitles me to a view.” 

Banal snorted. “Only because Orlais isn’t as interesting to draw.” Still the elf handed him the book before standing up and walking to the wash basin. Dorian blinked at the picture. It was him of course, but around him was…something. A pale lavender seemed to flow around him, a few shades of blueish purple in the shadows and a few flashes of gold. It looked like lightning around the edges. 

“What’s this around me?” He asked as Banal was drying his hands. The elf sauntered back to the bed and sat with his back against the headboard. He looked over at the picture. 

“Your aura,” Banal said as though that explained it all. Dorian looked up and realized his eyes were glowing white just as they returned to normal. His face must have looked panicked because the elf chuckled. “A simple spell, Dorian, to see another’s aura…their magic. You humans have very…subdued auras, or perhaps tightly controlled ones, makes it hard to tell unless you are unguarded.” 

Dorian moved to sit up a bit more. “And mine is purple?” He looked at the edges on how it appeared to crackle and jump like lightning. He supposed it was due to his affinity for lightning magics. 

“My people believed auras to be a manifestation of the soul; they change with emotions, get different hues as we grow, but will be the purest when we are asleep.” Banal glanced up at Dorian for a moment. “So yes, yours is lavender with some gold in color.” Banal tugged his book back, and flipped to the front. He handed it back. 

Cassandra sat reading a book in her normal area of Skyhold. All around her was a heavenly blue mist forming to her shape. Another page had Leliana tending to a raven, the color of mulberry wine hovering around in delicate swirls. Page after page where Inquisition members and their auras: Bull with a subtle tan color, Sera with a loud yellow, Blackwall an earthy brown, even Varric had a subtle amber color. 

“Do you just turn into a shadow and draw people when they aren’t looking?” Dorian joked. He even found a picture of Vivienne lounging in her chair, a frigid blue hovered close to her skin, just small areas of frost leaking out. 

“Yes.” Banal admitted bluntly. “I got very bored on bedrest, and didn’t want to sleep anymore.” 

“So you drew people’s auras?” Dorian chuckled a bit. That was one of the weirdest hobbies he could think of. He turned to the page before his own aura portrait. Vhena sat atop Sulahn’mi’s back while An’nas sat upon Tahon’s. The two of them seemed to be in a push up contest in the garden. Nehnlin and the rest of the Elvhen were scattered throughout the picture. 

Tahon’s was a forest green in an almost wolf-like shape. Sulahn’mi’s was barely there, just a faint outline of teal around her. But his eyes drifted back to the twins, drawn in by their identical auras. Black surrounded the twins, delicate spirals for Vhena and twisting vines for An’nas. So their auras were black? He glanced up at Banal. Though his face was neutral, there was a great sadness in his eyes. 

“What color is your aura, amatus?” Dorian asked to get Banal’s attention. 

“Once upon a time, it was white.” Banal sighed softly. “Now it’s black.” His eyes never left his children’s picture. He had known An’nas bore the Void’s legacy, but he had hoped Vhena would be free from it. Yet, her aura was as black as her brother’s, though the Void had yet to mark her. 

He prayed that it never would. 

***** 

“Time to get up!” Vhena called loudly as she skipped into the room. To her surprise, Dorian was combing his hair in a mirror, her father finishing the buttons on his shirt in the bathroom where Dorian could not see him. She blinked. She looked out the window at the sky. Sure enough it was morning, not afternoon. Her eyes drifted back to the men she usually had to fight to get up. And why was Dorian dressed in his nice Tevinter robes? “What’s got you two awake?” 

Dorian smirked, looking over his shoulder at the bathroom door. “Do I get to tell her or you?” 

“If you tell her a word, I will ship you back to Tevinter for bad behavior,” Banal grumbled as he came out the bathroom. Dorian’s retort died on his tongue. He stared at the Inquisitor, slowly rising and turning to look at him fully. 

Banal smirked, looking over his outfit. He had thought the human would enjoy it. The purest white silk covered him, from the barely there shirt unbuttoned to show a golden collar with a sapphire and delicate chains hanging from it, to the flowing outer robe with golden vines embroidered along the edge. 

“Why do I have a feeling I’m going to be fighting off every Orlesian in the city?” Dorian joked. Banal chuckled. 

“I’ll hardly notice them.” Vhena glanced between the two as Dorian kissed the back of her father’s hand, the metal filigree design stopping at the ring around his middle finger. It was an outfit as elaborate as anything Orlesian, yet subtle and graceful as anything an artisan in Arlathan would make. 

What’s got them being…what a minute. “You two are going out on a date!” She suddenly exclaimed. That’s why her father said he had plans today and why he was looking more like royalty than Inquisitor. 

Banal sighed, “Yes, is that a problem?” He waited for her to stop giggling excitedly. This was why he didn’t want her to know. She’d act like she usually did whenever he told her Falon’Din was coming. 

“No, I’m just surprised you know what a date is,” She teased. Banal rolled his eyes. 

He held out his comb to give her something to do that wasn’t smiling at him. “Need I remind you I was bonded before?” He grumbled as she began twisting and putting in the charms. 

“Yeah, but did you ask him or did he ask you?” 

Banal opened his mouth before shutting it. “He did,” he finally admitted. In his defense, he was considered cursed and told most of his young life that he would never get that kind of attention. Thus, he was rather passive in relationships. 

Vhena laughed, “See? I bet Dorian had to ask you out too.” She pulled the top layer back, away from his face (save the white streak…of course) into a ponytail. A few smaller braids ran through it, but she just combed the rest. 

“Actually, my dear, I asked him to take me out,” Dorian noted. Vhena added that long blue earring before stepping back. 

“No extravagant hairstyle today?” Banal asked. Normally she would go all out if she knew he was doing something remotely sociable. He mockingly checked her forehead for a fever. 

She laughed and pushed his hand away. “You’re going to cause enough people to faint as you pass without your hair being extravagant too, _Papae_.” She winked at Dorian, “I wouldn’t want Dorian to ruin his own outfit trying to tear you out of an Orlesian lord’s arms as he exalts your beauty and elven grace.” 

Banal frowned, “The day an Orlesian lord touches me is the day I level Thedas.” 

***** 

Vhena peeked out from the corner as her father and Dorian left the inn. She waited for them to walk by the fifth window before she left as well. She had just barely gotten out of the door before a prickle ran up her neck. 

“Hold it, Vhen,” sounded around her. A hand grabbed her collar, stopping her from stepping out. “What do you think you are doing?” An’nas pulled her back into the shadows. She twisted out from his grip with a pout. 

“Going to—” She started but her twin didn’t really care what her answer was. 

“Let Papae have his date to himself for once, hmm?” He knew from when Falon’Din was around, Vhena often showed up randomly and pestered them both or just spied. He was perfectly content to let her ruin Falon’Din’s time, but he was slowly growing to like Dorian. 

“What are you talking about?” She narrowed her eyes. Her twin could only roll his. They both leaned out to look down the lane. Banal and Dorian were chatting about something as they looked at some shop. Their shoulders brushed a few times, hands close enough to hold if Banal would try. 

“Let him have his human to himself. He doesn’t get to do this a lot,” An’nas whispered. Vhena frowned. Banal wasn’t known to be…a smooth operator when it came to anything but sex. She didn’t think that he even went out on dates with Falon’Din…Did he even know what to do on date? Elgar’nan seemed to be the mastermind behind the previous ones after all. 

Then she looked over at her brother with a cocked eyebrow. An’nas hated Falon’Din, with a capital ‘h’. He made no attempt to hide it either. Sabotage was old hat to him, yet here he was encouraging **her** to not interfere. Something was up. “Don’t tell me you are starting to like Dorian?” She teased with a smirk. An’nas shrugged his shoulders. 

“I don’t hate him,” he admitted. 

“So Dorian’s okay, but Falon’Din wasn’t?” 

“Dorian at least has the balls to yell at Papae,” He smirked. As far as he was concerned, if the human could stand up to the God of Corruption, he wasn’t too bad. Banal needed someone to yell at him. “Sides, you ever wonder why Papae didn’t start remembering things with Falon’Din, yet he did with this ragtag team?” 

Vhena cocked her head to the side. No, she hadn’t, but now that it was mentioned…Why didn’t he remember with Falon’Din? The white showed up with him, but no memories. What did these _shemlen_ do? Was it just that the barrier was old and crumbled? Or was it something more of how these people interacted with him? 

“You have a theory, I suppose?” 

An’nas leaned against the building. “Yeah, I do. Me and Tahon have been talking about it for a while and we think Falon’Din was perfectly content to let _Papae_ be himself, the dark God of Corruption that everyone feared and _Papae_ manipulated him all the way up to the end.” 

Vhena caught his line of thinking easily. “But these people dragged him kicking and screaming towards who he was before…” She looked back to where Banal and Dorian were barely dots now. 

“They made his old self resurface by not putting up with his chaotic, evil ass.” An’nas pushed off the wall. “So let him have his human for the day, huh?” Vhena sighed with a little pout. He held out his arm for her to take. “Come on, me and Tahon will take you sightseeing today. We found this really weird statue thing the other day.” 

***** 

The café bustled with mid-morning patrons like a hive of bees. Banal would’ve been perfectly happy to toss in an actual hive, but he refrained as they were seated immediately. The little alcove was off to the side in the back. The low wall, allowed them a view of the gardens and fountains this district boasted. 

“So might I ask how you know this place existed, amatus?” Dorian asked as he glanced over the menu. It was extravagantly modest for an Orlesian café. Not even one tiny cake with gold dust on top. 

Banal turned his attention from a particularly heated make-out session in the gardens to Dorian. “Leliana and Josephine gave me a list of all the places I should take you. I listened to about a third of them.” 

Dorian chuckled. At least he tried to listen. “And how did they find out about this?” 

“They were going to have me do something involving some alliance, go over more things about the Qunari, and so I had to offer a legitimate excuse not to do any of that.” Banal waved it away and looked back out to the gardens. “Are they trying to eat each other?” He mused aloud. 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, hidden from street view, but not from their table, were two young nobles about ready to strip and give them a show with their brunch. 

“Oh my, I don’t know whether to shout for them to get a room or throw them money,” Dorian joked. Banal smirked. 

“I’m thinking about shocking them for making me lose my appetite.” 

“Amatus, your apathy and complete disdain for everything is refreshing as always.” Dorian smiled while Banal rolled his eyes. The waiter came up to their table with all the regular lines about it being an honor to serve the Inquisitor, these are the recommendations, blah, blah, blah. 

Before Dorian could even say a word, Banal rattled off the order in perfect Orlesian, the only errors stemming from his own thick accent. Both the waiter and Dorian blinked at him. When did he learn Orlesian? Why did he learn Orlesian? The waiter recovered first, asking for specifics Dorian assumed. Banal responded and the waiter bowed as he left. Dorian waited for him to be out of earshot before asking, “When did you learn Orlesian?” 

Banal smirked, “This morning.” He watched the human blink, dumbfounded. He might not make it a habit to steal knowledge from allies’ heads, but servants and random strangers? They were fair game. “Next on my list is Antivan, then perhaps Nevarran and Qunlat, maybe some Rivain if I can find one.” 

“You just blink and take people’s language?” 

“Not in so many words, _lathlin_.” Banal sat back, looking out at the rest of the café. He could hear a dozen whispers about him. Some were lustful, others envious. A few were tinged with fear and disgust over the Tevinter in front of him, but most were twittering with excitement over new gossip that involved a very calm and might they dare say happy Inquisitor dressed to the nines. “I merely dip into their minds and absorb their knowledge of a language.” 

Wasn’t that the same thing? Dorian smirked to himself. “So you can read and write Orlesian? What about Tevene?” 

“Yes to both.” 

“Then why didn’t you learn how to read trade tongue?” 

Banal frowned at that topic again. He wasn’t ever going to admit he liked the lessons. Dorian got a certain sparkle when he was chattering about some random piece of knowledge, even if it was just a lesson in the mechanics of a sentence. Often times, they’d wind up in a discussion about different languages compared to Elvish, or the cultures or history. 

“It wasn’t necessary at the time,” Banal slyly dodged having to admit his stupid feelings. The human only smiled, as though guessing at the underlying answer. Their brunch came and soon a small orchestra began to play in the corner. 

“I’m guessing this is for you,” Dorian chuckled. After all, he doubted the café had the orchestra play every day for brunch. This was Orlais, but even they had their limits. Banal shrugged, going back to his crumbly cake thing. 

“I’m just thankful they serve tea instead of that damn concoction you call coffee,” He muttered as he took a sip. He wasn’t particularly fond of a great many teas, but when there was no cocoa and it wasn’t socially acceptable to drink brandy, he could stomach it. 

“Antivan coffee is a bit strong and very bitter, I will give you that, but you have not tried it the Tevinter way.” Banal cocked his head to the side, having to brush a strand of hair back from his face. “It’s quite strong, but tends to be sweeter in flavor. I’ll have to ask Josephine to see if she can’t procure some for you to try.” 

Their brunch slowly faded away into afternoon as they chatted. Occasionally they’d be interrupted by someone hoping to get a few minutes seen talking to the Inquisitor. For once, Banal wasn’t hostile, Dorian noted. He **behaved**. He held conversation, smiles and all. What’s more, Dorian was struck by how unreal this whole thing was. 

Here he was sitting across from an elf that looked more like a spirit king from a fantasy novel in an Orlesian café and he was not even content. He was happy, the kind young saps dream about during their history lessons. Yet here he was, looking the role of the young sap watching Banal gently remind the Orlesian he was talking to that he wasn’t the Inquisitor right now. 

“Well, Dorian, shall we go see what else this city has? Preferably without me having to talk to more people?” Banal asked, snapping Dorian out of his head. 

“Any particular place Leliana and Josephine recommended?” Dorian finished his own tea as Banal paid. 

They stood and walked out. “Most of them were shops, at least the ones I remember.” Very subtly, Banal laced his fingers with Dorian’s. “I do believe they were…this way.” Without even letting Dorian wonder what possessed the normally closed-off Inquisitor to be so open, he began walking. 

This side of Val Royeaux wasn’t as flashy. The shops were modest enough for Orlais. The streets were quieter. They got a few stares from people walking; these people probably never thought they’d see the Herald of Andraste walking their streets with his paramour. One man even walked into a wall. Dorian and Banal both had to bite their tongues not to laugh. 

“I like causing this much trouble so easily,” Banal whispered in Tevene as a woman dropped her bucket to curtsey. 

“Of course you do,” Dorian rolled his eyes. He wondered why the two advisors recommended shops on this side of town. Was it to get away from the nobles? Or to see all of Val Royeaux? They stopped outside a few shops. One was a dress shop that had Banal wrinkling his nose. 

“At least Vhena had enough fashion sense not to buy something like this,” Banal muttered looking at the disaster of ruffles and lace. Dorian had to agree with him there. 

“I’ve never understood Orlesian fashion myself.” Thankfully, with them speaking Tevene, they were less likely to cause a fuss. The shopkeep probably thought they were praising something. 

“What’s Tevinter fashion like anyways? Lots of belts and leather?” They continued on down the street. Dorian waved a hand at his attire. He was wearing virtually no belts save the cloth sash and no leather save his boots. Banal blinked as though just now noticing that Dorian actually covered his shoulders with cloth. “Huh…” 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. The elf looked him over, even looking back at his ass. He didn’t look as kingly or ethereal as Banal, but he liked to think he looked gorgeous. 

“Well, at least Tevinter knows fashion.” Banal mumbled. “Still on the fence about all the snake designs though. And the helmets. And spikes.” Dorian chuckled. He suddenly got a little invasive thought about what Banal would look like in Tevinter clothes. He really wanted to see that. 

They stopped at another window. This one had sparkling jewelry of all kinds. Dorian glanced over at the Inquisitor to find him entranced by it. The elf’s eyes lit up like a dragon’s looking at a hoard of gold. Then Banal seemed to blink and slide his gaze elsewhere. Apparently he liked shiny things. 

“You are allowed to buy things for yourself, you know,” Dorian commented, watching his eyes dart back to the jewelry. Banal frowned. 

“It’s frivolous to waste money on something as petty as jewelry.” 

“You have a vault of gold under a fortress.” Dorian laughed. Banal, however, shifted on his feet. “I think you can afford something petty and frivolous, amatus.” 

Banal pursed his lips for a moment. “I have enough jewelry as it is.” He quickly turned from the window and all but dragged Dorian down the street before his inner-dragon could get the better of him. 

They wandered around the streets for some time, looking in windows. A bookstore actually enticed them enough to enter and buy a few things. Dorian claimed it was to work on Banal’s reading level, but he also bought a few academia books for himself. After telling the owner where to deliver the books, they left chatting about differences in magic techniques with no real sense of direction. 

Banal paused outside a shop, pulling Dorian to a stop. His eyes widened as he saw something strange inside. Without even explaining, he hurried inside, dragging his human along. Dorian chuckled. They entered the shop, greeted by the masked shopkeeper. 

“Anything in particular you are looking for?” She asked. Dorian looked around for the moment that Banal stopped. It was a little music shop tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the marketplace. Orlesian made instruments lined the walls, glittering gold and white. He was surprised Banal would have an interest in a shop like this. He never expressed much love for music before. 

Yet the elf zeroed in on one of the two out-of-place instruments set on a pedestal. A long skinny neck flowed into a hexagonal base with strings. Dorian tilted his head to the side. It was far from Orlesian; it didn’t have an gold or outlandish designs. It was simple elegance in wooden form. A bow laid against its side. 

He looked down at the sign. “Dalish Violin?” He asked aloud. Banal chuckled. 

“Elvhen Violin,” He corrected. “I used to play it as a child.” He looked to the strange violin’s pair. Dorian’s eyes went as well. It was a strange kind of zither, like the ones he saw some Ander traders play only much larger. Delicate elvish script decorated the sides, an embrium twisting around a flat section. 

“And that?” Dorian leaned in to read the card, “Dalish Zither. Elvhen too?” 

Banal nodded. “My father made me learn that one.” The shopkeeper smiled at him, as though just noticing his Dalish tattoo. 

“I bought these from some Dalish I met coming back from Antiva, but I’ve yet to find someone who could show me how they are played.” She slyly hinted. 

“You wish me to play them?” Banal snorted. He hadn’t touched the instruments in thousands of years…Yet he missed the sounds they made. Modern music didn’t have the same quality as the kind he knew. 

“It would be a great honor to have the Inquisitor play one of my instruments, or perhaps buy them?” Banal resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Still he reached out to the violin-like instrument. 

“Do you have a chair?” Banal asked as he looked over the instrument. He wondered briefly where the Dalish had found one of these and learned how to use it. Perhaps the stint his people had in slavery hadn’t destroyed this, perhaps the ancient humans found the music far too beautiful to be destroyed, or someone just learned it on their own. Still, he smiled, moving the bow a little against the strings. 

Dorian blinked at the strange sound it made. The bow seemed to be a part of the instrument, on the other side of or in between the strings rather than a separate piece like normal violins. And the sound was…similar, yet in a different tone one with more resonance. 

Banal, however, winced hearing the out-of-key note. The shopkeeper came back with a chair, leading them back outside. Self-advertisement with a free gimmick…how very Orlesian. Still, for once Banal did not mind being taken advantage of as he sat in the shade of the shop, tuning the instruments with practiced precision. 

It didn’t take long to attract a crowd, one that included a few of their friends, Varric, Josephine and Cassandra included. Banal seemed oblivious though. He sat the violin against his leg rather than on his shoulder. 

He gave it a few experimental notes, getting his fingers situated. Then as simply as breathing, an old song began flowing from his fingertips. Soft notes drifted along, easily dancing together in the air as the bow slid along the strings. The melody was strangely…emotional, almost as though the instrument was singing. 

Banal swayed with his music, remembering spending hours in the gardens while his father made him practice with the instrument. Slowly his somber melody shifted into a more playful tune, his fingers flying over the strings. It was the song Isen had loved to hear played, of a fox running through the glen. The music copied the frantic pace of a fleeing animal jumping over obstacles through the forest. 

Josephine stepped next Dorian as they watched their Inquisitor make that strange instrument sing. “Who knew the Inquisitor had an affinity for music?” She mumbled quietly. Banal seemed miles away, his whole body swaying with the music, a content look on his face for once. Dorian smirked. 

“If he’s not careful, the Empress might commission him to play at one of her parties.” 

*****

As the sun began to set, Dorian and Banal walked back to the inn. It had taken sometime for the crowd listening to Banal playing to disperse. Then it took even longer for him to be coaxed into buying the damn instruments by pretty much everyone around him. Josephine claimed it would a treat to hear him play in Skyhold for all their guests. 

“So, enjoyed the day?” Dorian asked. Banal hummed. He supposed that was as good a compliment as any. 

Banal’s ears twitched as they neared the inn. He stopped, pulling Dorian back. A very familiar and melancholy song emanated from the door. Ah yes, he was beginning to wonder why this day was going so well. Now it all made sense. He gets a few hours to himself and then they dump what was sure to be a terrible choice on his lap. 

Dorian was about to ask him why he was glaring murder at the door. Banal grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. Leaving very little room between them, Banal pulled back to whisper, “I had a marvelous day, _lathlin, ma serannas._ I’ll have to reward you tonight.” Dorian smirked. He got another kiss before Banal stepped back. “Now, I do believe Blackwall is going to be waiting for us.” He offered his arm. “And I wish to have the most dramatic entrance possible.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Always the flashy one.” Still he linked his arm with the elf’s. Banal squared his shoulders, head held high like royalty. He exuded power, grace, and quite possibly murder. He snapped and the doors flew open for them. 

Sure enough, Blackwall stood between two Orlesian guards who were talking to the advisors. Judging from the frowns on the three’s faces, it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. Everyone turned to the door. Josephine and Leliana smiled at them. 

“Enjoy your date?” Leliana teased. 

Banal’s eyes didn’t waiver from Blackwall. “Of course, I particularly liked how everyone scurried around as I walked towards them.” Cullen snorted. Banal turned his attention to Dorian on his arm. “I’ll be up in a minute if you wish to go ahead.” He gave a pleasant smile when he felt Dorian’s hand tighten around his for a moment. “Or would you like to watch the show?” 

“I’m rather curious on what you intend to do,” Dorian admitted. Blackwall seemed a mix of anger and resentment boiled in guilt. He looked like he needed the strongest drink imaginable. 

Banal looked at the ex-chevalier. His stint in prison hadn’t done him any favors. Dark circles under his eyes, something was clumping in his beard, and Banal was pretty sure he hadn’t been allowed to bathe at all. He slid his eyes to the guards. “You may leave,” he stated simply. The guards might have frowned at the order, but behind their full face masks he couldn’t tell. They did not move, however. That made him frown, the air starting to grow cold. 

“We are to wait until you say what you intend to do with this…murderer,” he assumed the higher ranking guard spat. 

Banal cocked an eyebrow. “What I intend to do with him is my business. I assume all the papers are in order, now get out.” He even stepped aside and jerked his head towards the door. The soldiers stood taller. He didn’t know if they were just being stubbornly stupid or just following orders. Either way, it was annoying. 

Cullen seemed to agree. “The Inquisitor has more important things to do than give you a full report.” Maker knows he doesn’t give full reports on things he should anyway. Frankly, he would’ve thought the guards would just dump Blackwall at the inn and be on their merry way. Don’t they have something better to do? Like guard? 

“For the sake and wellbeing of the Empire, we wish to know the Inquisitor’s judgment on Rainer.” The soldier protested. 

He could hear anger, fear, and disgust in the two’s songs. They were angry Banal was able to arrange Rainer’s release, fearful he’d go unpunished and disgusted at the same time. Sure it was throwing Banal’s weight around a little bit, but honestly, he stopped a civil war, saved the Empress and was cleaning up their damn messes. They owed him one tiny jailbreak. 

Banal crossed his arms. He cocked his head to the side. “Judgment? Who said I was going to judge anyone?” A few outraged gasps came from the Orlesians, both the soldiers and the little crowd they were attracting in front of the inn. 

“You can’t—” 

“I can choose to judge whomever I wish, soldier.” His eyes slid to Blackwall’s. “As far as I’m concerned, he can go wherever he pleases.” 

“Just like that?” Blackwall scoffed. “No strings attached?” Why did he feel like if he said the wrong thing an arrow was going to snuff him out? 

Banal smirked, “Well…I wouldn’t say that. You are free to go, atone at your own pace, but as you, not Blackwall, not Rainer the murderer, just you.” Banal shrugged. “If you choose to leave the Inquisition, you will return my shield and sword; they were loaned, not given.” 

“The man I am? I barely know him. But he—I have a lot to make up for.” Blackwall mumbled, looking like he was trying to puzzle out the very odd elf before him. 

Blackwall looked down at the ground for a moment. Banal could almost hear the wheels turning, so many noises coming from his song that it was kind of painful to listen to. Fear, anger, self-hatred, guilt, despair, and beneath it all: a tiny singsong note of hope. It was fragile, barely an ember really, but it was enough. 

“If my future is mine, then I pledge it to the Inquisition. My sword is yours.” He said as he finally looked up. Banal snorted. 

With a snap, the shackles around his feet and wrists froze. The metal snapped open as the locks broke. “Then I suggest you bathe and get a good night’s sleep. We leave tomorrow.” Banal looked to the soldiers. “There you have your report. Now go, shoo.” 

“You can’t—” 

Banal’s glare stopped him. “ _ **Vara,**_ (Go away) he growled. He pointed to the door. The two soldiers looked at each other. They noticed how red those weird marks were becoming. The air was getting colder too. A strange and distinct urge to run surfaced in them. They saluted before exiting the building. “ _Dahn’direlen_.” 

“Well, I don’t think the Empire’s going to like this outcome,” Dorian remarked. Banal merely shrugged. 

“I couldn’t care less about what the Empire likes. Have you seen how they act? Not a big loss.” Banal started for the stairs, ready for a nice long bath and some really alone time with Dorian. 

“Inquisitor,” Blackwall called when he was partly up the stairs. Banal motioned for Dorian to continue before turning to look down at the human. “What you said in the prison…was it true?” 

“If you mean to ask: did I do terrible things?” Banal said with a straight face and serious tone. “Yes…I’ve done things ten thousand times worse than you more times than I can count.” He saw an unspoken question in his eyes: did he regret it all? Regret was a funny thing. You can regret a past action, but it’s pointless and you can still remember that you weren’t all that broken up about it in the first place. 

“And?” Blackwall prompted, fully aware everyone was listening to this conversation. 

Banal looked off to the side for a moment. “A part of me doesn’t regret it at all; it deems the actions necessary, any deaths a mere statistic of war.” He looked back down at the man. “The other part…I’m working on.” 

***** 

“Look at all the trees!” Vhena exclaimed as they stopped on a hill that gave a lovely view of the Emerald Graves. Banal furrowed his eyebrows. He got flashes of crystal walls, houses and shops lining streets…this was not the place he remembered. 

“It’s like home…” Arvaan muttered in confusion. His home was far to the west, in the place called the Tirashan. He was told it hadn’t changed much, or at least was still a wild and dark forest. 

Banal tilted his head to the side. “I don’t remember there being this many trees when I was here last…” Everyone slowly looked at him. These trees were giant, centuries if not millennia old, and yet here he was saying there weren’t that many trees back then. 

“Most of this was the Bastion, I think,” Soralan also looked around confused. “Not that I came here much.” 

“Bastion? You mean that ruin the First from that Dalish Clan was trying to find?” Bull asked. If these guys knew where to find it, good, meant less walking in a possibly haunted forest. All he saw in this place were sylvans and a waste of lumber. Oh and land, this place could be a decent sized city. 

Banal gave a so-so gesture. “It was much more than that.” 

“Oh?” Cassandra, this time, asked. There were some good sides to having a potentially ancient companion. Small details about a place, its history, its landscape, all provided insight into what to expect. 

“Used to be like a city, a damn impenetrable city,” Soralan shook his head as he grumbled. “Your Suledin Keep? That was the heart, but it extended all the way down here.” 

“Impenetrable?” Blackwall asked just as Bull commented, “Wasn’t so mighty if it’s a bunch of ruins now.” 

Banal rolled his eyes, “Outside forces had never taken the Bastion, myself included, Bull, but the Elvhenan’s collapse came from the inside, and with its collapse everything became a ruin I suppose.” He shook his head away from old memories. They served him little right now. “Come on, I wish to set camp before the sun sets.” 

With that, he clicked his tongue and set off down the hill. 

***** 

After Harding’s debrief, Banal went back to the tents and his companions. Their number one priority should be getting the red lyrium out of the Graves. Thus, destroying any Red Templar operations was a must. Then there were the Freemen to deal with, of course. Sula and Rithara had done a good job of destroying their little dabblings into necromancy back in the Plains, but apparently here was where they concentrated. Lots of ground to cover. 

“So what’s the plan, boss?” Bull asked from his place by the fire. 

Before Banal could even get a word out, Lotus spoke up, “I’m told there are some interesting reagents ‘round here, some of which I haven’t heard of. So if you don’t mind…” 

Nehnlin, lounging lazily on the steps, perked up, “Oh! Sounds fun, I’ll come along!” 

“Think I’ll come too, you two might need melee support,” Tahon spoke up. An’nas shared a looked with Vhena. Banal frowned as he crossed his arms. 

“No.” The trio turned to meet his disapproving glare. “You know the rules; you three aren’t allowed to be in a team without me being present.” Varric sensed a story there, and judging from the three’s pouts, it was one they wished Banal had forgotten about. “Lotus you’ll be accompanied by Sama and Sula. Nehnlin you’ll be scouting out the Templar bases. Tahon, it’s your lucky day.” Banal smirked evilly at his son-in-law. 

“Skies above I hate that smile, usually it means a bad day,” Tahon muttered so that only An’nas and Varric heard him. Varric gave the kid a pat on the shoulder. 

“I think that’s how Smiley shows his affection.” 

“You get to go with Soralan and Arvaan to find these Freeman of the Dales.” Banal turned to the Inquisition, “We will stay until Nehnlin comes back with information on the Templars. If we have time, we’ll go to the Bastion and look for the First, but I doubt we’ll find anything but bodies. Maybe some undead if I’m correct.” 

Everyone sighed. Why did he have to have weird elf-spirit sensing magic? And why couldn’t it predict rainbows or something nice for a change? 

“Shouldn’t we introduce ourselves to that Fairbanks fellow?” Dorian spoke up from the potions table. Lotus had been showing him and Vivienne how to make his simple specialty healing mist. The ones he made with all his equipment were a lot better (and more complicated), but out in the field, the simple version was better than being dead. 

Banal snorted, “Why? So he can beg me to help him? Enemy of my enemy?” He gave a dismissive gesture, “I’d rather get what I need done, then go talk to him. Less talking.” 

Dorian smirked, hiding the fond reaction by going back to grinding the spindleweed. “You never change.” 

***** 

Red Templars destroyed, even a lodge freed, they were making good time, if Banal said so himself. Things were running smoothly for once. All that was left on the agenda was to find the Bastion, well not so much as find it since they were technically in it...so it was more like find the Dalish. He got a vague sense of where to go the deeper they went into the forest. There was also a dragon here…and several giants. 

He preferred to leave the giants be, to be honest. He didn’t like them, what with all the rock throwing they usually did. Plus, this many of them in a relatively close area was asking for trouble. Never attack a giant tribe, **never**. Unless you had a small army, which he did not since most of his people were out and about. Lotus always took forever gathering plants. Soralan’s team should be around here somewhere, but he’d yet to find them. 

But for now, Banal was content to look out over the forest, leaning against a wolf statue. There were lots of them in the Graves, and at every one he made a terrible Fen’Harel joke at Solas, who was quickly tiring of this strange cross between his friend Mahviiral and his enemy Banal. 

“ _Papae, Papae!_ “ Vhena came barreling down the path, breaking the tranquility of the forest. For a moment, everyone thought enemies, but she was smiling. “Come look!” She skidded to a halt near her father and immediately grabbed his arm. 

Banal sighed, “At what, Vhena?” 

“There’s this little cave—” 

“Vhena, that’s called an animal den.” Banal interrupted. Vhena pouted. 

“No it’s not; I know what those are!” She protested, but quickly recovered her excitement, “Anyway, there’s a little cave and I stuck my hand in it—” 

“Am I going to have to let N’lin teach you wilderness survival again?” Banal cocked an eyebrow at the insanity his daughter was apparently plagued by. She stomped her foot impatiently. 

“Just listen!” She pouted. He sighed as he crossed his arms, an amused smirk twitching around his lips. “Little cave, stuck my hand in and something smacked it. Like…like this,” she swatted one of Banal’s hands. “Just like that. So I start jumping on the cave—” 

“Princess, why would you want to jump on the thing?” Varric interrupted this time. Did she have zero self-preservation instincts or something? 

Vhena huffed again at having her story stopped. “Because I wanted to see whatever was in there! So I jumped on the cave a few times and there was this voice!” Banal furrowed his eyebrows. 

“A…voice?” He asked, wondering if Vhena had gotten too much fresh air. Or if some of these trees put out a toxic gas. Maybe the red lyrium was to be blamed. 

“It said ‘bring faith. Bring hope. Bring a dream of life,’ in a really weird voice. Come look!” She started to pull him towards the stone path she came down. “I think it wants something, like a spirit?” 

Banal frowned as he let her drag him to this tiny cave. He growled as he had to yank his braid out of the bushes that surrounded it. If this was some flight of fancy, he was going to…He blinked stupidly at the tiny cave. Little things of purple flowers sat outside it, rather like it was a home. He cocked his head to the side. 

“See! It’s weird right?” Vhena exclaimed as she looked back at her father. Banal’s ears twitched as he heard whisperings of the Fade. The Veil was incredibly thin here… “Let me see if I can get it to talk again.” Before Banal could catch her, she climbed on top the small rock face and began to jump. “Come on, I know you are in there!” 

“Vhena, stop jumping on it! You’re going to—” 

“Need more! More! Have to be ready!” startled them both. The smell of Crystal Grace wafted from the cave along with a tiny noise only Banal could understand. He heard little bells just below the normal range of hearing. A thread sprang to life in his chest, a geas settling over him easily. 

“Vhena, go get your brother. See if he has some Crystal Graces,” Banal muttered as he was locked in a staring contest with the rock. He didn’t even notice Vhena running back down to camp. His body quivered a little as he tried to break free. Yet unlike all the other times, he felt frozen. The whisperings of the Fade told him many things. Most of them dealt with flowers and made no sense, like talking to a mad man. 

“ _Papae_ , I brought what Graces we have but…” An’nas paused as he noted the almost statue-like stillness of his father. He had to squint to even see if he was breathing. “Uh… _Papae_?” 

Finally the geas broke and Banal blinked. He shook his head a few times, trying to get rid of the spiderwebs in it. He wordlessly took the bag and placed at the mouth of the cave. An’nas cocked an eyebrow. 

“Are we leaving offerings to the Stone spirits now?” He mocked. Banal snorted, waiting. The bag began to move, slide across the ground into the cave. Both twins jumped. That was probably going to haunt them for a little while. “What the actual fuck?” 

Banal could only shrug. “The spirit really likes flowers for some reason.” 

“The stairs! The stairs that go down. Way, way down. I’ll be there. You’ll be there.” And with that last ominous prediction, the Fade left the area. But not before Banal got a flash of the stairs it was talking about. A part of Suledin keep once upon a time. Stairs that could’ve lead to any number of the underground tunnels and structures…which was to say he didn’t know which set it wanted. 

“This new Thedas is weirder than before…” Vhena muttered. 

Banal snorted before starting to herd them back towards camp. “And only gets weirder every second.” 

***** 

“So, Smiley?” Varric called before cussing at yet another root that tripped him. Banal chuckled at the dwarf’s plight, but stopped to let him catch up to the group. “Why can’t Rebel, Griffon, and Doc be in the same group?” 

“Oh boy,” An’nas muttered under his breath, “here we go again.” Vhena only giggled. Banal, however, frowned at the memory. 

“I lost half of my temple,” he grumbled bitterly. Varric blinked stupidly at him. 

“It wasn’t half, just a wing,” An’nas clarified as he bent down to look at the strange stone piles the Dalish had made. They marked a hero’s grave, which was now a tall-as-hell tree. He wondered what had happened exactly, who were these people? 

“Wait, they destroyed a wing of your temple? The big scary place with all the traps and bones?” Varric looked back at Banal. How did you get up to that much mischief? And what were they trying to do? 

Banal sighed loudly, “Yes, the west wing to be exact, where we stored herbs and whatnot for balms, poisons, and other things. They thought it’d be fun to mix things together and see what happened, need I go on?” 

“Yes. Yes you do, amatus,” Dorian chuckled. “What did they find in an alchemical pantry that destroyed a wing?” Banal plucked a few leaves out of his hair in boredom, looking displeased at the forest for shedding on him. The leaves fluttered to the ground, the Inquisitor glaring at them (or the memory) all the way down. 

“I don’t really recall what they mixed, but the fumes produced by the concoction were highly flammable. They had a candle with them, a lit candle…” 

“Suddenly all we hear is a loud WHOOSH BOOM!” Vhena took up the story with her own sound effect. “And Lotus, N’lin, and Tahon are running out of the room, clothes on fire, Lotus is missing half an eyebrow, most of N’lin’s shirt is gone, and Tahon covered head to toe in scorch marks. Some other ingredients were explosive and…” 

“And from that day on, rule number twenty-nine has been part of the golden thirty,” An’nas concluded. Varric snorted at the image of the trio having to face a very angry Smiley. Somehow he imagined them tucking their tails, elven ears drooping like Daisy’s did sometimes when someone yelled at her. 

“Thirty? You have thirty rules?” Dorian asked in bewilderment. 

Banal rolled his eyes, “With my lot? Please, I have over a hundred rules, thirty of them are just not allowed to be broken…ever.” He knew he shouldn’t have said anything the moment Varric smirked and got that twinkle in his eyes. 

“What are the top five? Rules I mean.” Fuck...Banal could barely remember the different sections of his temple since it had been changed so many times… 

For once, he was glad he had his children with him. Vhena and An’nas swooped in to save their father’s memory. “Rule number one: You do as Banal says, not as he does,” the twins recited together. Banal could only smirk at the strange looks he got. “Rule number two: If you are arguing with someone, keep it to yourselves; no one wants to deal with your drama.” 

“Rule number three,” Banal cut in, “shadow magic is only to be used for battle, or emergencies, not childish pranks.” His eyes flickered over to the twins who could only grin sheepishly. Varric guessed they were the reason for that rule. “Four: the large bathing hall is for bathing,” Varric opened his mouth to ask about that one but Banal plowed on, “and five: don’t poke dragons.” 

“Wait…what?” Bull asked at the last one. Vhena looked up at him sweetly. 

“Nehnlin and _Papae_ can turn into dragons, which temples are not made to hold.” She unhelpfully explained. An’nas rolled his eyes before shrugging. 

“Someone pissed Nehnlin off so badly, he turned into a dragon and collapsed a hall.” 

“Thus don’t poke dragons.” 

Bull looked at the Inquisitor, wondering if he ever got so pissed he just turned into a dragon. Banal shook his head at the question in the Qunari’s eye. “I dislike my drake form, Bull.” 

“How could you hate being a **dragon**?!” Vhena groaned loudly. She’d love to be a dragon! She could rain icy death upon villages or demand sacrifices or just hoard all the sparkling jewels on some mountain somewhere! 

“I’m not a dragon; I’m a drake. Drakes have no wings,” Banal explained absently as he looked over the forest. His eyes fell on a familiar head of white and an arm waving wildly to get his attention. Banal picked up his spear and started down the hill towards Soralan, Arvaan, and Tahon in a shadow of a ruined tower. 

“So why did you learn it in the first place?” An’nas asked. A devilish smirk came to Banal’s lips as he remembered without any prompting. 

“I got pissed at my bondmate and ran off for a decade.” 

“And…you become a drake now?” Varric asked delicately. How did that equal a drake? 

Banal chuckled, “No, but I did learn how to while I was away.” 

As they neared Soralan, they entered into an old clearing, ruins peeking out from the ground. A large, twisting tree sat sentinel over the forest below its outcropping. His eyes fell back upon the Liar, his hand moving more frantically. That stupid prickling sensation ran over his spine, stopping him in his tracks. 

A dragon’s roar echoed around the forest. Soralan smacked his forehead, before making an exaggerated motion for them to get behind the old ruined tower with him. Just as the dragon’s landing shook the ground, they all hid behind the wall. A low growl rattled their bones. 

“Do you just enjoy tempting fate, _lethallin_?” Soralan hissed at Banal as he came close. “I’m too old to be fighting dragons!” Which was ridiculous. Soralan was about one and a half thousand years younger than Banal. If he was too old, Banal was beyond too old. “Can’t you read sign language anymore?” 

“One, that wasn’t sign language, that was flailing an arm around in the air,” Banal quickly signed ‘go back, dragon ahead’ like Nehnlin had taught him. “That was sign language.” 

Soralan rolled his eyes, “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m kinda missing half of the tools…” He moved what was left of his arm. 

“Why didn’t you just use a communication spell then?!” Banal growled. It was one of the simplest spells in the world, and one that all military personnel learned fairly early on. 

Soralan’s frustration disappeared. He instead blinked, like that hadn’t occurred to him at all. “Oh…I do know that spell, don’t I?” Slowly, everyone turned to him in disbelief. 

“Are you losing it already, Sora?” Tahon mumbled as he leaned out to see what the dragon was doing. An ice ball whizzed passed the edge, narrowly missing his face. His back hit the stone loudly as he reeled back. “I didn’t think you were old enough to be senile like the old man, but…seriously?” 

The two “old men” turned their glares to him. “Are you calling me senile, little puppy?” Banal’s voice lowered into a threat. His eye twitched in irritation. He wasn’t that old! Nor were his memory problems caused by age…merely circumstance and an apathetic attitude! 

Soralan’s voice dropped even deeper than Banal’s, a thick burr accent overtaking his voice. The air around him suddenly felt thin as magic began to flood it. Plants crept up his legs, dying only to have new growth take its place. “You really wanna pick this fight right now, lad? There’s a dragon right over there ya know?” 

“Tahon, if you love me you will not answer that; I refuse to be a widower before I’m three thousand,” An’nas whispered. His bondmate chuckled. 

“Sheesh, you guys take your age so seriously…” Tahon held his hands up in surrender, but kept his playful smile. The two deathglaring elves snorted and began to analyze the situation. 

“Just one dragon?” Banal asked as he cloaked himself in shadows so he could lean out of cover. The yellow and blue scaled dragon patiently waited for one of them to come out of cover. She kept perfectly still. By the way her throat was glowing, she was preparing to freeze them. 

“Yeah, don’t think she has any ‘lings anywhere, might be trying to nest though,” Soralan confirmed as Banal ducked back into cover. “Good news is we outnumber her plent—” 

A little tingling sense prickled Banal’s spine, the quivering tips of his ears standing up. A barrier shot up around them. A boulder slammed into the invisible magic, the black spreading at the point of contact. They all whirled around. Not one, but two giants lumbered towards them. 

A golden hawk flew over their heads to land on a ledge of crumbling stone. “What the hell are you doing leading **giants** to us, N’lin?!” Arvaan shouted. 

Nehnlin’s sage green aura flared before dissipating into black smoke as the hawk shifted back into the elf. The mask hid his face, but the look in his eye said he was frowning. “I didn’t!” He yelled as much as he could. “You’re the ones who strayed too close! They must’ve caught your scent,” He shrugged helplessly, “I tried getting their attention somewhere else, but that didn’t work—fuck!” 

Another boulder headed straight for him. Nehnlin’s body disappeared into a thousand bugs. The rock smashed into the old tower. The old stone crumbled around them. The rogue immediately changed back. He yanked down his mask, revealing the jagged claw marks over his mouth. “Hey fuck shits! I was talking!” He yelled at the giants. He drew his bow. The runes sprang to life as three arrows were knocked back. Their tips caught on fire. He let loose; they flew true…right into one giant’s eye. 

Banal sighed at the two behemoths approached. An ice ball shot over head, the dragon deciding to join in too. “Why couldn’t I have normal followers?” 

“Because crazy attracts crazy, _lethallin_ ,” Soralan commented helpfully. Banal glared at him for a moment. 

“Bull, Blackwall, Tahon, you three try to keep the dragon focused. Sora, Vaan, Cassandra you three got the giants. Enchanter, Fen, to keep them covered. Vhena and An’nas, focus on barriers and healing.” He stopped to tell Nehnlin where to go, but the rogue was already shooting at the giants. Sera darted off towards the dragon with Bull and the other two. He sighed again. “Fine, whatever, pick a fucking fight.” 

Grumbling under his breath, Banal walked into the clearing, looking less enthused to be facing a dragon than normal. Varric shook his head at him. “Is he pouting because they didn’t listen?” 

Dorian smirked, “I think he is; be careful, that face could stop armies.” 

***** 

Banal dove sideways. Ice crashed into the area he was just in. This was starting to get annoying. Not only did he have to dodge ice, avoid slipping on the shit, not trip over roots and stones, but then he had giants that would throw boulders and occasionally decide the group fighting the dragon was much more fun than the ones attacking them. 

To top it all off, friendly fire was shooting everywhere. The team going against the giants occasionally got shots off at the dragon, misfires or purposeful accidents he’d never know. The dragon would then turn her attention to them, and surprisingly three giant monsters attacking one group of five people didn’t go over well. It just involved a lot of running and hiding. Banal’s group would sometimes hit a giant and this was all just a colossal mess. 

Banal shot off a fireball. A few elvish curses slipped his lips, but considering his thoughts were just an endless stream of profanity, it was hard to tell if he actually said them or not. The dragon roared. Flames spread over her hide as the spell hit her side. She snapped her head towards him. 

Both elf and dragon glared at each other. Banal’s spear lit up with flames. The dragon’s throat glowed with ice. A boulder crashed in between them, party members scattering to avoid getting smashed. 

The giants apparently wanted in on this glare contest. Banal’s ears twitched back. He shadowstepped forward. A fist slammed into the ground. Rocks and dirt rained down, little pebbles pelting any exposed skin. Banal spun at the end of his step. In one fluid motion, he jerked his free hand upwards. A wall of fire drew a line in front of him. With a dismissing gesture, the flames shot out. 

The giant roared as its hand and feet caught fire. It swung its arm blindly. Smacking into an old wall, the flames were dowsed. The wall was also destroyed. A stone larger than a horse flew off into the forest below. 

The giant took one step forward. Banal backed up a few feet, then jumped backwards. The giant swiped the ground. The air whooshed around the elf. He jumped back again just another swipe nearly got him. Again and again, he narrowly avoided getting picked up and thrown. He didn’t even have enough time to throw a spell or two. The moment his feet hit the ground, they were off again. 

A low growl sounded behind Banal’s back. He dove to the side, dropping his spear. From the corner of his eye, the dragon turned her attention to him. He apparently was far more entertaining than Cassandra and Arvaan hacking at her legs. Go figure. He also took note that he couldn’t move to the right anymore. Not if he didn’t want to potentially fall off the cliff. 

She flapped her wings. The two warriors put their shields up in defense against the debris she kicked up. With a sudden push, she lifted up into the sky. Only to crash down behind Banal. The force of the landing pushed him forward. Ice on the ground made him slip. Pain blossomed through his right arm as he landed on it. 

Time stood still for a moment. The giant turned, arm raised to backhand him into the ground. The dragon’s throat glowed, mist flowing out her mouth. Banal understood quite well that if either opponent hit him at that close of range, two things would happen. One: every bone in his body, including his skull and spine, would break; and two: he was far too old to survive another mortal wound and _Uthenera_. 

So he did what any sane person would. His left hand shot out. A focused telekinetic blast boomed as it ripped through the air. Visible shockwaves pulsed out. Banal skidded backwards, right off the cliff. For a moment, he hung in the air, watching the dragon’s ice and the giant’s fist collide. 

Then all he saw was dirt. His body twisted over itself once. He dug his claws into the rock face, slowing himself down. Rocks bit into his cheeks; dust burned his eyes. A root sticking out from some brave tree stopped him. His shoulders wrenched in their sockets at the sudden halt. Banal groaned, biting his tongue to keep from yelling. 

He took deep breaths. His shoulders hurt, but they weren’t out of socket, though they might have torn something. Aside from a few dozen cuts on his face and dust in his eyes, he was pretty much okay. He squinted as he looked back up the cliff. Long claw marks marked his descent; dirt flowed underneath him. 

“I’m too old for this shit…” he grumbled. He looked around for footholds. Sure he could shift into a bird and fly back up, but that required the most difficult of transformations: doing it while falling. One way to guarantee an injury was to try to shift forms while tumbling through the air. If you didn’t shift quickly enough, you’d hit something. If you did shift quickly, you still have to take a few moments to orient yourself to the body, and then by that time you are almost face-to-face with the ground and hurt yourself trying to reverse the force shoving you to the ground. Moral of the story: don’t shift while you are falling. 

He could also alter the landscape, but Nature magics like that were never his strong suit. He could conjure up a stone fist as well as anybody else, but twist vines and roots to form a platform or have them lift him up to the ledge? That was a big fat nope. While some people of his homeland in the swamps studied such things, he focused on battle magics. Nature magics were mostly used for building. 

Banal swung his leg up to the root he was dangling on. “I want to see the Emerald Graves, _Papae_ ,” he mimicked Vhena’s singsong voice as he grabbed a handhold. He pulled himself up, balancing on the root. He felt the root give a little. He grabbed another handhold. “It’ll be fun!” He continued. Rocks clicked as they fell away from the root. He dug one foot into a little hole. 

The root snapped free. Banal’s fingers gripped the rock, his body weight hanging from them. His heart stopped for a moment. He screwed his eyes shut, praying to anything that the rock would hold. Rock climbing was Elgar’nan’s thing; Banal preferred to fly up cliffs. He wasn’t afraid of heights, he just didn’t find fun in having his body dangling vertically with only his hands and feet to save him. 

When the little holds stayed, Banal let out a breath. He glared at the rocks, damning them for existing before looking for his next holds. “All the reports say it’s really peaceful! We won’t run into any trouble!” Banal continued to mock in short bursts as he slowly climbed his way up. He sighed in frustration when his fingers couldn’t reach. 

“I’m going to execute whoever made those reports,” he growled as he shifted his feet up the cliffside. He took a breath to steady himself. He jumped to the right. His fingers screamed as they dug into the little ledge. His arm shook as it held him. He scrambled for another handhold. A hand wrapped around his wrist. 

Banal blinked up at Blackwall and Bull who leaned over the edge. “I gotcha,” Blackwall muttered, bracing himself. Banal gripped the man’s wrist and looked over to Bull’s offered hand. Great…another trust exercise, Banal thought bitterly. 

“If either of you drop me…” He growled, though it had far less bite to it than he would’ve liked. Blackwall chuckled, before testing whatever he was holding with his other hand. Banal assumed it was a rope since he was halfway over the edge. 

Banal let go. Blackwall grunted as he held him up. He thought elves were supposed to be lightweight. His feet slid a bit, but he dug his heels in as the elf swung. Bull, thankfully, had a longer reach. He caught Banal’s outstretched arm easily. Both of them pulled, Banal scrambling to walk up the side of the cliff. 

Once the land beneath his feet became horizontal, Banal almost ran to the wall that was blocking them from harm. Blackwall chuckled as he sat in the dirt; Bull leaned out to look at the battle. 

“Don’t like heights, Inquisitor?” Blackwall rolled his shoulder a few times. Banal glared. 

“Don’t like climbing.” Banal winced as he tried to close his hand. His hands were on fire, little pinpricks of pain shooting along his bones. He didn’t even want to know what they looked like. He got an image of bandaging Elgar’nan’s hands, the pads of his fingers and palm skinned and bleeding. That wasn’t even accounting for the internal damage. 

“Then why did you throw yourself off a cliff?” Bull asked. Banal could only shrug. Sometimes when you have no good options, you pick the stupidest and roll with it. 

“How’s the battle going?” Banal shifted topics as he tested his range of motion. His hands were probably a lost cause at the moment. His shoulders weren’t looking too good either. His right one in particular felt like it had over extended something. 

Blackwall stood up, “Honestly, not good.” As though to reaffirm that, the dragon shot an ice ball against the wall. The stones rattled, old mortar and dust falling away. “None of us are unconscious, though that’s due to our four healers.” 

“Your buddy, Soralan, ran off to find some sylvan trees or something that wouldn’t you know kill us all if it suddenly started moving,” Bull continued. “Other than that, we can’t pin one of the bastards down long enough to kill it.” The Qunari turned to Banal. “You know, boss, giant baiting and dragon fighting are two things that shouldn’t be combined.” 

“Really?” Banal hissed. “I hadn’t noticed! Thanks.” He blew a loud breath out his nose. What they needed was some way to make an opening. The giants kept everyone moving around, and the dragon just waited for an opportunity to strike. Separately, the three wouldn’t be that hard to be rid of, attack the legs and they’d go down long enough to finish them off. But together? If you got one down, the other two would force you to go on the defensive before you could kill it. 

So they needed something to even the playing field. Something would draw their attention and do massive damage. Normally, Banal could do that just being on the battlefield. With his hands and one arm currently killing him though…He didn’t think he wanted to be dodging or throwing spells. Vhena and An’nas could work…but he frowned even thinking about using them. He bristled even. 

A little idea popped up inside his head. He groaned. That was the last thing he wanted to do, but he could see little option. He sighed deeply. “Cover me; I haven’t done this in a while.” He crossed his legs, clasped his hands in front of his heart. 

“What? Pray?” Blackwall snorted. That’s what it looked like he was doing after all. Banal blinked at him. 

“Or I could just let the dragon eat you…” 

The ‘Warden’ chuckled before picking up his sword and shield. “Right, right, don’t question the leader.” Bull grabbed his axe. They shared a look. How hard would it be to keep the dragon and giants from targeting a crumbling wall? 

“Do it quick, boss; they seem to like you,” Bull muttered before running back into the fight. Banal snorted. If he could do this quickly, he wouldn’t have asked them to cover him. 

He closed his eyes and focused. The world disappeared into just magic. The magic that flowed beneath the world, through the trees, and through him. He pulled his magic tight, pushing it into cells. He drew from the air and ground for more, until he could break down physical barriers. 

He pushed at his body with the magic. He remembered the shape, how to do it, but his body hadn’t twisted itself into it for a long time. So…it was a bit stubborn. The magic flowed through him, coaxing bones to move, muscles to grow. His body began to give. Magic flowed over him like water. Shadows twisted around him. 

So lost in himself, Banal didn’t even notice the giant. He didn’t hear anyone’s warning shout as the giant swatted the wall. His body was already shifting as he flew off the cliff for a second time. And by the time he realized it, the spell was out of his control. 

***** 

“Why does everything have to focus on the Inquisitor?!” Varric yelled as he shot at the giant’s face. He might as well have been shooting toothpicks for all the good it did him. He looked at what used to be a tower, hoping to see Smiley picking himself out of the rubble. But no such luck; either he was crushed or was thrown off the cliff. 

“Well if you were an enemy,” Vhena panted as she spun her staff around her body, shooting electrified ice bolts at the giants. 

“—would you rather focus on the weaklings or,” An’nas huffed as he wove barriers together. 

“—the strongest?” Vhena finished. Varric found it rather creepy how they were finishing each other’s thoughts. They sometimes did it at Skyhold, but in a battle apparently that’s all they did. 

“I’d focus on the Seeker, personally,” Varric quipped. “She is a dragon slayer.” 

“Banal’s a god,” Nehnlin shot back as he back flipped over the three. He shot off three arrows. Two hit the thick neck of a giant, the other bounced off the tusk. The dwarf cursed under his breath. The rogue had a point. Between a dragon slayer and the Inquisitor, everyone would go for the Inquisitor what with his weird spirit-elfy-ness. 

Still it seemed like Banal attracted bad luck or something. He was always hurting himself in battle, and had the worst luck when it came to fighting. Case in point: he fell off the cliff twice now. “Anyone got any tricks up their sleeves?” Varric yelled. An echoing roar shook the trees. The twins and Varric froze. They shared a look. 

“Please tell me that wasn’t another dragon,” Dorian huffed beside them. The sound of trees snapping drifted up from the valley below. A low growl followed by rocks crumbling did nothing to ease their fear. Just as their dragon was about to tail slap everyone, another roar came from the cliff. 

The Mistral looked over to the side, an inquisitive noise coming from her. Her nostrils flared before she gave a loud screech in answer. Pure white claws gripped the ledge. The ground cracked and split. Rocks crumbled away from the edge as the dragon’s head came into view. 

“Oh shit…” Varric whispered. The sunlight glinted the pearly spines of the new dragon as it came into view. Its teeth were bared, fins on the side of its head flared in agitation. The ground shook as it took a step, dragging its body into view. Turns out, it wasn’t a dragon, but a drake. Thick spikes stood where wings should’ve been. That fact didn’t calm their fears any. The drake stalked forward, green eyes locked on the Mistral. 

“I didn’t know drakes came in that size…” Blackwall muttered. The drake was nearly double the size of the dragon. Jagged plates covered its underbelly, three lines of spikes going down its back. Two sets of horns, one shorter than the other, came from its head, a spike at the end of its nose. Basically, the thing looked like something out of a dragon slayer’s nightmares. 

A low growl came from the Mistral as she backed a few steps away. The drake stepped further onto the ledge. Its head raised to look down on her. Another step put it into shadow. 

The scales turned black as night on the spot. Varric blinked. Wait a minute. “Smiley?” The drake’s eye glanced down at him. Sure enough, the tell-tale green and red eyes of Banal gazed at him. Funny how his eyes didn’t seem to match any other form but the drake. 

The twins cocked their heads to the side. “You’re…very pretty as a drake…” Vhena muttered. And he was in a terrifying sort of way. Then she blinked, “I think we should all vacate to the tree!” 

“Sound plan,” Tahon echoed as they all began to retreat to the roots of the twisted tree. The three opponents were all too happy to shift their focus to the drake the size of a castle. And Banal was very happy to give them all of his attention. Black lit up his throat, black flames sputtering out gaps in his teeth. 

An ear shattering roar shot a stream of fire. One of the giants began to flail as the black fire ate at its flesh. Soon it began to petrify. The dragon and the other giant backed away, avoiding its fate. Banal shook his head like he had a ringing in his ears. 

The Mistral screeched in warning as he took another step towards her. Varric hoped Banal knew what he was doing and wasn’t going to get raped or however dragons made tinier dragons. That would be an awkward story to tell. 

Like a signal had been lit, the Mistral bounded forward. Her wings shoved through the giant, her head lowered like a battering ram. Banal ducked his head. Their skulls collided with a thunder clap. Banal didn’t even budge. The Mistral backed up, shaking her head. She lunged again. Her teeth scraped against the hard scales of his neck. Banal twisted, hitting her with his shoulder to keep her from biting. He shoved harder, pushing her farther back. 

He stood fully in the clearing, taking up over half of the ground. Where shadows fell on his hide, the crystalline scales turned back. A low growl vibrated through his chest. The Mistral shot an ice ball at him. It broke over his skin, but did little harm. He shrugged his shoulders. Ice broke off him. 

“This is kinda cool, yeah?” Sera chatted excitedly. Two dragons fighting was like a fantasy no one really thought they had until they saw it. Definitely beat the dragon fighting the giant on the Storm Coast. 

Vhena seemed to be having just as much fun. She whooted and hoorayed whenever Banal bite or slashed the Mistral. An’nas could only roll his eyes, though this was fun to watch. His father seemed to be a bored cat playing with a kitten. Swatting her into the ground, biting her tail or legs whenever she bit his sides or his neck, he was just letting her fight it out. Pretty soon she had gashes and bite marks all over her body. 

Then a boulder snapped his head to the side. The look on his face was the draconic equivalent of ‘oh no you didn’t’. His head whipped around to the giant that apparently went off to look for a rock. Sylvans tangled up its legs. Soralan just stared at the white drake. 

“Damn, you weren’t this big before were you?” The Liar yelled. He noted the black spreading up the drake’s neck. His eyes widened before he shot behind one of the few undemolished walls. He braced for the weird icy slime feeling of Void magic. 

What he got was the ground shaking. Banal needed only to take a few steps to reach the giant. His head shot forward. His teeth sank around its torso. The beast tried to shake him off. Banal tossed his head to the side, flinging the giant away. He pinned it to the forest floor, one claw shoving into its shoulder. His tail slapped the Mistral, a spike stabbing into her side. 

He bellowed black fire into the giant’s face. It froze in place. He ripped his claw from its shoulder; it crumbled away into white ash. He looked over his shoulder, slowly turning to the dragon. She held one of her legs up, blood gushing from its shoulder. She screeched, magic lighting over her body. Her wings flapped as she bunched her muscles. Banal growled. She began to take off, hind legs shooting her upwards. Banal rushed forward, quicker than something his size should be. He shoved off the ground with his front legs. 

His teeth sank into her tail. Blood coated his tongue. She screeched as she desperately flapped her wings. He pulled her down. The ground shook as he all but threw her to the ground. He released her tail only to bite one of her wings. The bones crunched. The Mistral frantically swiped at him with her legs. Her claws drew sparks as they raked over his chest plates. Banal drew his head back, blood dripping off his mouth. He closed his mouth around her throat. Her spines bit into his mouth, but her spine still snapped. Her body fell limp. Banal growled, his drake form overtaking his mind as blood filled his mouth. 

“ _Papae_!” made him blink. He let go of the dragon and lifted out of his possessive stance. “You are so pretty!” Vhena came bounding to him. She was so tiny in this form. Not even bigger than one of his claws. “You need to teach me how to turn into a dragon!” Banal snorted, smoke coming out his nostrils. That seemed to fascinate her more. 

Soon the others tentatively followed her. The Inquisition were a bit more wary than his followers. For good reason; he was bigger than any of the High Dragons after all. And dragon shapeshifters were things of legends. 

“So do all your forms just get bigger with age?” Nehnlin asked. 

“You know he can’t answer you right?” Bull mumbled as he looked over the carnage Banal caused in maybe ten minutes. Think about how well he could invade Orlais or any country like that…He was a one drake army. 

Banal rolled his eyes as he laid down. He even crossed his front legs like a king. “Actually, Bull…” echoed from the air around him. It was sort of distorted, like something out of a dream, fuzzy and clear at the same time. 

“Oh shit!” The Qunari jumped back. 

Nehnlin started laughing, while An’nas helpfully explained, “Dragons have a strong magical connection, so we can still cast spells in that form. At least in theory.” 

“So to answer your question, N’lin, it’s not so much age, as it is power. The older you get, the more power you have…” Banal hummed as lowered his head for Vhena look at. He was just so gigantic! And pretty! Even her tiny shadow turned his scales black. Up close she could see a thousand colors dancing in the white scales. 

“The bigger your dragon,” Tahon finished. The old man was pretty big. “You know you could destroy the capital in like five minutes like this…” 

“Don’t give Smiley any ideas, Rebel,” Varric smacked his arm lightly. “Orlais is going to have a hell of a time remaining standing once they stop being useful as it is.” 

Banal stood up again. His body was starting to hurt being in this form. That and he felt the drake trying to surface again. He shook his head. Magic washed over him, shadows pulling around him. His body cracked and shifted. The ball of shadows condensed into a much smaller, elven form before dissipating. 

He stood for half a second before he crumbled to the ground. The loud ringing in his ears prevented him from hearing the commotion around him. He was turned over onto his back, his daughter and son looking down on him. Their mouths moved, but he could only hear a garbled mess. 

His whole body was numb. He couldn’t feel a thing like he was just a severed head. He could move his eyes and mouth and that was about it. Slowly the ringing faded. 

“Relax, Vhen, he most likely just fucked up his alignments,” An’nas waved away his sister’s worry. He then focused on him. “So, _Papae_ , can you move?” 

Banal tried focusing on his limbs, commanding them to move. No luck; he was paralyzed from the neck down. “Nope; someone go find Lotus to shove needles in me…” Banal said calmly. A form that large was bound to misalign something. He was just happy to have all his bones still in place. 

“Well can’t you realign him?” Vhena asked as she chewed on her thumbnail. 

An’nas grabbed her hand and pulled it away. He gave the back of her hand a light smack. “That’s Lotus’s specialty. I don’t need to be able to paralyze people to defend myself.” Which was true. Lotus was a brilliant healer, but when it came to offense? The man didn’t even know how to cast a fireball. Sure he could blowdart people, make their hearts explode from healing, but that was the extent of his fighting prowess. 

“I thought drugs were his specialty?” Cassandra spoke up. The elves didn’t seem too concerned with the paralyzed Inquisitor, so that must mean it wasn’t fatal or permanent right? Even Banal seemed overly calm about not being able to move. 

“Well that’s what he went to school for in the physical sciences, but he specializes in…energy magics?” An’nas wrinkled his nose in thought. “Basically how energy or magic flow through the body. I never really understood the theory.” 

“That’s because you don’t listen very much,” Banal commented absently. An’nas opened his mouth, but movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention. 

“I saw black fire,” came from the other side of the clearing, “and figured a certain Inquisitor would be needing me…” Lotus walked up to the group, not noticing Banal on the ground. He looked at them all in confusion. He followed their line of focus. “Why are you on the ground?” Sama and Sula joined them, giggling into their hands. 

Banal sighed, “I turned into a drake.” Lotus’s pale eyebrows shot up. That was a new one. Not an uncommon thing though, just unusual for someone as old as Banal. 

“Haven’t used that form in a while?” 

“Not since I was in my first millennia.” That…was a long time then. Lotus crouched to touch his fingers to his forehead. Blue magic flashed over the healer’s eyes. He noted the lines that magic flowed through. They were all empty, the black twisted and tangled in his chest where they branched out. Lotus blinked the spell away. 

The healer sighed, “You know I ought to start charging you a fee.” Banal rolled his head to look at him. 

“You are very pretty,” Banal mumbled. Everyone looked at him oddly. Lotus, however, only cocked an eyebrow. 

“Are…you trying to butter me up?” 

“You wanted payment.” 

Lotus snorted. Well, the Shadow King wasn’t known for giving a lot of compliments, so he supposed it was a reward. Still, he kind of wanted to see how far he could push the man. “You’re going to have to do better than that, _lethallin_.” 

Banal barely skipped a beat, “You are very pretty, so utterly beautiful that there are no words in elvish or common to express the sight of you. Your heart is so pure priests would commit suicide in shame, spirits would mimic you in dreams…” 

Lotus chuckled, “Careful, you keep talking like that and I’m going to borrow you from your boyfriend.” 

Dorian blinked, “I beg your pardon?” Not only was it a little unsettling (perhaps annoying was a better term for the little burr that sprang to life in his chest) to have Banal weaving flattery together so simply for another man, but then said man says something like that? 

“Humans don’t share, Lotus,” Banal quickly interjected. 

Lotus furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, aren’t they just greedy…” Still he summoned tiny blue needles. Carefully he placed them into pressure points. 

“What…are you doing exactly?” Varric asked as the Inquisitor turned into a porcupine. 

“Realigning his magic,” Lotus stated simply. Then he realized to the mortals, magic was something only some people have. It wasn’t what allowed them to live, move, or do anything really. “When he shapeshifted, his body had to change shape, move things around, add other parts. When he comes back, those parts have to come back together, and so things get tangled sometimes.” He looked up to just blank stares. He sighed. “I think the Rivaini have this concept of chakaras that would be similar, only rather than just cause maladies, ours will physically paralyze us if they are misaligned.” 

Only Vivienne and Dorian seemed to understand what he was talking about. Solas too, but he was more inclined to talk to Soralan about his magics. As far as he knew, Sylvan magic was a hereditary skill of the Revas’vir House, similar to how Void/Shadow magic was hereditary of Banal’s line. But the Prince of the Revas’vir had supposedly died in battle with no heir and no siblings. 

The Liar, however, dodged the questions. He turned to Banal, “So, _lethallin_ , feeling alive after this?” He slyly moved away from the Dread Wolf to look down at the Inquisitor. Banal smirked. He sat up, arching his spine. Cracks rolled down his back. 

“I’m too old to be dealing with this shit,” He repeated. As he stood up, oh man did he feel the truth of that statement. “I recall dragon shifting to be much easier.” He stumbled a few steps, trying to get his body used to walking on two legs again. Cassandra handed him his spear for him to lean on. 

“You need to teach me how to turn into a dragon!” Vhena popped up happily. Banal rolled his eyes. 

“No.” 

“What? Why not?” She pouted. Anyone else in the world and they may have melted at the puppy dog look. Banal? He dismissed her face with a wave of the hand. He started to move towards camp, ready for sleep. 

“You master the _dirth’ena enasalin_ and then you can move on to shapeshifting, starting with a mouse like everyone else.” 

***** 

He could still remember the first time he saw Suledin Keep. Of course he saw it in glimpses between rows of houses topped with snow, the crystal stone streets dusted with frost. Even still, his breath was taken by the sight. 

High up on its lofty perch, it glittered with golds and reds, carved from the very mountain itself. It shone like a beacon, as strong and hardy as the people who dwelled in its shadow. The city came alive with crystal glow, shops opening for the day, and down farther in the valley were the arenas where warriors all across the Empire came to train and fight in hopes of joining the Sun’s armies. 

The air was crisp, new and lively, playing with the magic in the stones. Water ran through the town, diverted from the mountains. Everywhere there were waterfalls pouring down from the districts above. Despite the cold snap, life endured. 

But those days were long gone. 

The land before Banal was snowy still, but lacked all the life he knew. Frozen, trapped, dead, the city was gone, replaced by ramshackle houses that were half destroyed. All signs of habitation were erased. The only thing he could recognize was the Keep itself. 

He stood in perhaps the same place he stood when he was young, looking up at the imposing structure. Back then, it seemed so inviting and warm. It was lively as a beehive, with magic covering the stones. 

Now? All the magic was dead and the fortress was nothing more than crumbling stone. A darkness had fallen over it, or was it over him? Things that once brought comfort only brought pain now. 

“You…doing okay, Smiley?” Varric asked as he looked back. The elf was just staring up at the Keep. He wasn’t looking forward to going in there himself, but there was a bit more to Banal’s lost look. 

“I came here a lot when I was young,” Banal whispered. “It always felt so…enchanting, alive…now it’s all dead.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s nothing, Varric. Just old memories that should’ve died long ago.” Banal moved to take the lead, ignoring the hole ripping itself wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case anyone is interested in reading this, Banal's bond-mother is actually a transgender woman. Since she's always been his bond-mother, I didn't think it would be necessary/realistic for him to point it out, you know? Anyway, she might make more appearances; she'll definitely be in his backstory, but since that's a long ways off, I figured I'd just leave a note for you few who read these things ^.^
> 
> SO.....Suledin keep. Was one of the first chapters I thought of, and I've been rewriting it ever since as the story came along. So weird to think that this story is almost done really. I mean I have Suledin, Mythal, and then the final showdown and that's really it. Maybe a special chapter for Hakkon (or three because let's face it me? Do one chapter for a storyline? Only in my dreams!). Descent...I like the idea of doing it with the spin off this story more than this one. Trespasser I've yet to decide if I continue this one, maybe a few chapter between to show you what he gets up to, or if I just make it its own story.......decisions.......
> 
> I'm kinda sad that this is ending for some reason. Happy since it means I can go back to writing the even longer AU of this story (spoiler Elgar'nan gets to be in it) that I'm all giggles about, but sad too. Out of all my stories I never thought this thing, the one I literally only had two chapters done and decided to wing it, would be this. Like seriously big shocker that my bundle of darkness and decay turned out to be the most lovable.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for tagging along on the journey so far. We're going to have fun while this thing still lasts right?

**Author's Note:**

> All Elvish in this story can be found either in the canon/wiki, or in Fenxshiral's Project Elvhen Lexicon. I don't use the grammar portion of it, I do use words from it. Generally I try to stick with the canon things and how they are set up (like -an meaning 'place of')
> 
> And if I haven't said it before, thank you for reading my Darkquisition! Kudos, bookmarks, and comments are always very appreciated!


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